


Bound

by queenbanshee, xtremeroswellian



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU of season four, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Banshee Lydia Martin, Character Death, College AU, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Future Fic, Lydia Feels, Magic, Stiles Feels, Stydia Month, actually it's completely AU since season 4, but we're fixing it!, emotional tether, eventually?, martinski investigation agency, mentions of Sheriff Stilinski - Freeform, the pack is kinda broken up, this was written before MIT came up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-22 02:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9577235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbanshee/pseuds/queenbanshee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtremeroswellian/pseuds/xtremeroswellian
Summary: After not seeing each other for over three years, Lydia and Stiles run into each other at a supernatural crime scene, and are forced to work together to save lives…including each other's.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>    
> [Title card by [Ronnie](http://songof-light.tumblr.com/)]
> 
>   
> 
> 
> This is our contribution to the Stydia Big Bang challenge!
> 
> Aside from the two of us, we have:  
>  **[Oxcenia](http://oxcenia.tumblr.com/)** \- Our wonderful artist!  
>  **[Summersanginme](http://summersanginme.tumblr.com/)** \- Our amazing beta!
> 
> Thank you so much for being a great team, you guys! You're as much a part of this as we are! <3

As soon as she steps into the house, Lydia can feel the deep shiver down her spine that she has come to associate with death. She can hear cars driving by, so she turns off her flashlight. The last thing she needs is to get caught. _Again_. With a hand covering her mouth and nose, she slowly makes her way further into the house. 

There’s not much she can see, considering everything is completely dark aside from what little moonlight that shines its way through the windows, but as she makes her way down the corridor, she knows she’s going in the right direction. 

But there’s something else, something she can’t quite put her finger on. A pull that she’s not sure she’s ever felt before. Or, not in a very long time, at least. 

Just as she’s about to make a left into one of the empty rooms, she hears the wooden floors creak and she stills completely, holding her breath as she drops her hand from over her mouth.

***

Stiles utilizes the window to enter the house. In the past few years he’s learned it’s usually less attention-grabbing than using the front door. He drops silently to the floor of one of the bedrooms and pulls his flashlight out of his pocket, flipping it on and shining it around the room, pausing at the sight of the body lying in a heap on the floor. 

Putting the end of the flashlight in his mouth, he kneels down and feels for a pulse that he knows he’s not going to find, but he wants to make sure just in case, for once, he’s not too late. Unsurprisingly, he is. But not by much, given the body is still warm. He shuts his eyes for a moment, and then pulls the flashlight out of his mouth again, sighing softly and pulling out his phone, taking pictures of the body, focusing in on the man’s neck and the injuries to his head. He takes quick pictures of the room, scanning it to see if there’s anything that he may have missed. He’s on his way back to the window when he suddenly grows still. 

A chill makes its way down his spine. 

The killer is still here, he thinks, reaching into the back of his waistband and pulling out his gun, placing his back to the corner of the room and taking aim at the door, flashlight aimed in the same direction. 

Stiles waits. 

She’s half an inch from the door when the flashlight shines out of the room. Whoever did this isn’t afraid of getting caught. Probably because they plan on killing _her_ just like they did to the person who’s dead somewhere inside and is causing the permanent chill down her spine.

With a deep breath, Lydia prepares her lungs and steps forward, making her way through the door. As soon as she’s inside, she _screams_ , lifting her head and directing her scream right toward the flashlight. It’s not a scream strong enough to kill, but she’s definitely hoping it’s strong enough to knock the killer off of his feet.

He doesn’t even get a glimpse of the perpetrator before his body slams violently back into the wall, crashing through the closet doors behind him. His ears are ringing and his head feels like it could explode. Various pain flickers through his body -- probably because the wooden closet doors have splintered and are sticking into his back and arms and neck, which is _great_. Dazed, he reaches for the flashlight that he dropped, searching the darkness for the attacker. 

As she starts toward the killer, she kicks something. That’s when she picks her flashlight back up and shines it on a gun on the ground. It doesn’t make sense, the murders she’s been reading about have nothing to do with _guns_. But she doesn’t question it as she reaches to pick it up.

“Don’t bother searching for your gun, I have it.” 

He freezes when a light flicks on, but he still can’t see the person. He mutters something beneath his breath, hoping to at least catch the person off guard. “In lucem.” The bedroom light flicks on at his words and his gaze immediately darts to the individual holding a flashlight and his gun, and when it does, all the color drains from his face. 

The distraction works. Because Lydia gasps and actually looks up at the light when it comes on. Everything in her grows cold. A witch. An actual witch. Or -- wizard? She swallows hard and looks back down at him, this time being able to see his face. And then she stills, eyes widening even more. Because it _can’t_ be.

“...Stiles?”

He’s about to respond, opening his mouth and closing it again as he stares at her, when he hears a noise from the other room. He shoves himself to his feet, moving toward her and taking his gun from her hand, placing a finger to his lips as he reaches out to turn the light off. He turns his back to her, facing the door, heart pounding heavily in his chest as he hears footsteps approaching. 

Despite the shock, she manages to move. She needs a couple of deep breaths to focus again, but as soon as she shuts off her flashlight again, she’s ready to attack whoever is coming. All of the sudden, her stomach feels tighter and she knows danger is approaching. _Literally_ , if the footsteps are anything to go by. 

“It’s him,” she whispers very carefully as she takes another deep breath, this time in preparation for the killer.

He doesn’t answer her, shoulders tensing as the figure appears in the door. This time he doesn’t hesitate before firing two shots into his chest without waiting for an attack. If Lydia’s sure it’s the bad guy, that’s good enough for him. He hears a thud as the body hits the floor and keeps his gun trained on the figure as he approaches slowly, gritting his teeth as he nudges the man’s shoulder with his shoe. 

Lydia doesn’t even get a chance to react at all. She winces after each gunshot, and when Stiles moves forward, she remains in place. “He’s dead.” Her voice is even, she doesn’t need to check on the body to know that Stiles just killed someone. 

“Good.” He moves past the body to check the house for others, be they victims or killers. 

She turns her flashlight on once again, watching him as he walks away from her. She doesn’t know what to do. _Stiles_ is there. Stiles killed a man. A supposed killer, yes, but -- Lydia takes a deep, shaky breath and looks down at the initial body in the room. This is why she came here in the first place. 

Just like the others, this man is lying in the very center of a pentagram. There are wounds over his palms and the bottom of his feet. And -- like the others, his eyes have been carved out. Between this, the smell of blood and gunpowder and seeing Stiles again, she really feels like she’s going to be sick. 

His expression is grim when he steps into the room again. “We need to go,” he says quietly. “If there were others here, they’re gone now.” And he really, really doesn’t want her to see the bodies of the two children across the hall. He tucks his gun into the back of his jeans and makes his way toward the window. 

Except, she’s already seen the children. Not here in this house, but on her way here. She watched them die. “It’s just the three of them,” she says. Well, four now. When he heads for the window, she almost questions him, but considering the gunshots and how close the houses are up here, she just follows him out silently.

He doesn’t respond, just waits for her to make it out of the house and makes sure she’s steady on her feet before heading toward the alley behind the house. He pulls out a throw away phone, placing a call to 911 and pressing his lips together in a grim line as he waits, giving the address and information to the operator before pocketing it again. “My bike’s a block up.” 

Lydia just follows behind him quietly, sliding her gloved hands into her pockets because it’s definitely getting colder. The chill on her spine has nothing to do with the weather. 

Once she spots a bike and sees him slowing down, she stills a couple of steps behind him. “What were you doing in there?”

Stiles glances back at her, arching his eyebrows. “Stopping a killer.” 

Lydia pauses at the look on his face when he looks back at her. It’s been over three years since she last saw him. Apparently over two years since Scott saw him. But she knows she doesn’t get to question him or where he’s been. Not after what she did. 

“Did I hurt you?”

Truthfully up until right then he’d forgotten about the fact that she’d thrown him through the closet doors. He shakes his head a little. “I’m fine.” He climbs onto the motorcycle and looks at her. “Come on. We need to split.” 

Her first answer is to shake her head and step away. But Scott’s words from the last time he spoke to her make her stop. She needs to, at the very least, figure out where Stiles is staying and let Scott know. She owes him that much. 

So even though her stomach clenches with every inch she moves closer to him, she makes her way over to his motorcycle, hesitating for a moment, before climbing behind him. 

He can see her hesitation. Hell, he can practically feel it. He says nothing when she climbs behind him, just makes sure she’s seated securely and starts the bike’s engine, driving away as quickly as he can. He can hear the sirens in the distance, and he knows in a few moments the entire coven is going to realize their friend is dead. They’ll come looking. 

They always do.

***

He rolls to a stop a few blocks away from the crime scene, nearing the business sector. He glances in the rearview mirror, relieved to see no one’s followed them. “You okay here?” he asks, glancing at her over his shoulder. 

Lydia glances behind her shoulder too, then climbs off of the bike carefully before standing next to it and looking up at him. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Stiles nods slightly, looking up at her for a moment. “Are you gonna call a cab or something?” 

“Subway is a couple blocks that way,” she says, glancing in the correct direction before looking at him again.

He nods once more. “Okay, good. Be careful.” 

Her stomach clenches because she knows he’d just leave like that. After all this time, she can’t blame him for not wanting anything to do with her. She doesn’t know how much Scott told him, but -- she knows she never really explained everything to him. She never even said _goodbye_ to him. So she knows she doesn’t have the right to try and stop him from leaving. She chose this and she still believes they’ve been safer all this time because of her choices. But -- again. She thinks of Scott.

So before he can actually leave, Lydia steps forward again. “Stiles, wait.”

He glances up at her again, twinge of anxiety in his stomach as he looks at her that he tries to squash by sheer force of will, to no avail. He takes a deep breath, waiting. 

The truth is, she has no idea what to say to him at this point. She can’t say she’s sorry because she stands by her choice. “Why are you here? Looking into this?” Asking about the murders is easier than anything else. Anything personal.

“It’s what I do,” he responds, not bothered by the question in the least. “Why were _you_ there?” 

“It’s what I do,” she echoes, her stomach clenching as she shakes her head. “There are, on average, thirty homicides in New York City every night, Stiles.” What are the odds that they would end up at the exact same one?

“And how many of those are supernatural?” he questions without missing a beat.

“Lately? About a quarter,” she answers back.

He narrows his eyes at that, an almost surprised look appearing on his face. “Guess I’ve got my work cut out for me then.” 

“If you didn’t have this information -- and you clearly didn’t -- you have no idea what you’re dealing with. I’ve been researching them for a while.” A couple of weeks, actually, but that would take away her credibility.

A short, humorless laugh escapes him and he meets her eyes. “A lack of information’s never exactly stopped me before.” She used to know that. Then again, it’s been a long time. She’s probably forgotten. 

There’s something so cold in his laughter that it actually hurts. Lydia looks away for a moment, takes a deep breath, then turns to him again. “Look, Stiles -- I don’t blame you if you don’t wanna be around me. But this is dangerous, okay? There are a _lot_ of them. So if you’re going to look into this anyway,” and she knows he will, “let me at least share what I have with you.”

His eyebrows raise. “You mean if I emailed you, you’d respond?” His voice is flat rather than accusatory. He fees a thrum of guilt as soon as the words are out of his mouth and he looks away. “If this is your way of saying this is your territory, fine. I’ll take off.” Right after he finds the rest of the coven and deals with them. 

Her stomach twists at his words, even if she knows he has every right to throw them at her. And although the hurt flickers through her expression for a moment, she does her best to push it away. “I’m saying if we’re both going to be working on this, we might as well share the knowledge we do have if we want an actual shot at stopping them.”

His jaw clenches a little and he stares down the road, expression unreadable. “Where’s a good place to meet?” he asks after a moment. 

Lydia takes a deep breath at that. She was fairly sure he was going to just take off at any second and leave her talking. “There’s a coffee shop on West 113th street and Broadway. The upstairs area is usually pretty empty.”

“Open all night?” he asks, glancing up at her. 

“Yes,” she says firmly, holding his gaze when he looks at her.

He gives a short nod. “Tomorrow night? 6 PM?” 

“8 PM. So we miss the dinner rush,” she suggests instead.

“Okay.” He starts the bike again, tightens his hands on the handles, but pauses, looking conflicted for a moment. “Sure you don’t want a ride somewhere else?” He doesn’t want to feel like he just left her in the middle of nowhere, possibly in danger. 

“I’ll be okay,” she answers, taking a step back as she slides her hands back into her coat. She’s fairly certain of her ability to protect herself these days.

“All right.” Considering she’d thrown him through a door without touching him, he’s pretty sure she’s got it covered. “See you tomorrow,” he says, even if he’s already pretty sure she’s not going to show up. Hell. He’s not even sure _he’s_ going to show up. “Be safe.” He glances at her once more before speeding away.

“You too,” she says quietly, sure he’s not going to hear her at all as the engine revs. Lydia watches him go until he disappears in traffic. Then, with a deep breath, she turns toward the subway station as she pulls her phone from her pocket and starts typing up a short email to Scott. 

_He’s alive._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter, we're going to try to post one every day or every other day! Hope you guys are enjoying it! :)
> 
> As always, thank you so much to **[Oxcenia](http://oxcenia.tumblr.com/)** and **[Summersanginme](http://summersanginme.tumblr.com/)**!

At three minutes til 8, Stiles parks his motorcycle outside the coffee shop that Lydia had given him the address to and sits in silence for a moment, looking over at the building. The lights inside give off a warm glow against the frigid night and he sighs, pulling off his ski hat and raking a hand through his hair. He rises to his feet, pocketing his keys and grabbing his black bag off the back of his bike, heading slowly toward the entrance of the shop. 

He’d spent most of the previous night in the library, researching so he could figure out what he’d missed. He’d stumbled upon an article about a bizarre death when he’d been in Massachusetts, and after he’d finished the case he’d been working on there, he’d headed north. He hadn’t realized it was connected to so many other deaths. He’d just jumped in head first. Then again, it’s what he’s always done. It’s exactly what set him on this path to begin with, he thinks wryly. 

He pulls open the door to the shop and glances around, taking note of every door and window, surveying the place for anyone suspicious or out of place. He’s pretty sure the only one who looks out of place here is him. 

Lydia has been there for about fifteen minutes. She’d ordered her usual -- non-fat double shot mocha and made her way upstairs. She managed to secure a booth by the window, toward the back of the row.

Until the moment she saw him pulling up to the shop on his bike, she was _sure_ he wasn’t going to show up. Between constantly checking the window and going through the dozens of emails Scott has sent her, she hasn’t really touched her mocha just yet. And she’s fairly sure she’s not going to until he makes it upstairs.

He orders a black coffee -- because frankly it’s all he can afford, and considering how much _it_ costs -- it speaks volumes to how bad things are on the cash front. He makes his way slowly up the stairs, pausing at the top when he spots her. He has to take a deep breath before convincing himself to move forward and join her at the table. 

That same _pull_ she felt the night before, she feels now. She doesn’t even have to look toward the stairs to know he’s standing there. But when she does, she’s not at all surprised when she locks her gaze with his for a moment. Lydia takes a deep breath and sits up a little as she reaches to pick up a thick folder she has in her bag. 

Considering they’re only a couple of blocks from Columbia, she’s fairly sure no one is gonna bat an eye at the two of them talking quietly in a corner over a massive pile of paper.

He scans the rest of the upstairs but doesn’t see anyone else, so he relaxes as much as he can as he sits down across from her, pulling a folder out of his bag and setting it on the table. He eyes the folder she brought -- which is about twice as thick as his. Makes sense considering she apparently lives here in the city and has been researching a lot longer than he has. 

“Hey.” He takes a drink of his coffee, managing not to make a face at the bitterness. The more bitter it is, the stronger it is, and that’s a _good_ thing. 

“Hi,” she greets as she finally sips on her still warm mocha, keeping her eyes on him. Between last night and today, she only slept about two hours, when she actually passed out from exhaustion on her couch. She wants to ask him if he’s staying far from here, if it was easy for him to find the place but -- that’s just small talk. And that’s not something she used to have with Stiles.

“Obviously I’m still behind in the research department,” he says, sliding his folder across the table to her. He figures the best, easiest way to do this is just to exchange folders and pour over the information, making notes when he needed to and vice versa. He grabs a notebook and a pen out of his bag and sets them on the table. 

“I’ve had more time,” she answers, sliding the folder over to him after pulling his toward her. And she’s fairly sure the contents of both folders will have a very different focus. She’s always been more logic oriented while Stiles picks up on facts based on his gut feeling. That’s why they always worked well together. Back then.

He can’t help but feel the tiniest spark of excitement as he opens her folder, wondering what he’ll find. He pauses momentarily, gaze flickering over to her when he sees that she actually color-coded her folders. The thickest section was red, the shortest section, green. The third one is blue, and there’s a handful of articles and notes inside it. His own is a lot more chaotic, and mostly consists of articles that he’s highlighted in different colors.

She’s actually looking at him when he glances at her, but quickly looks away and down at his folder. And yes, it’s chaotic. But there’s a system to his chaos, there’s always been. Even when he used to spread notes and print-outs all over the living room of his bedroom when they were younger, there was a system there. So between her familiarity to the case and his methods, it’s fairly easy to navigate. 

After getting lost in his material for a moment, she takes a deep breath and speaks up without thinking, “I think there might be some things we can cross reference. You have different sources than I do.”

“Got some from the NYPD, too,” he tells her without glancing up again. Stolen, of course. He’s gotten really good at hacking computer systems -- but most of them are very weak when it comes to protection. “Not that they know a lot of what’s really going on.” Or any of it. Just facts without any real information behind it. 

“I saw.” And it doesn’t really surprise her. He always made it look easy to get information that was supposed to be classified. Of course, considering his dad -- Lydia pauses as the thought crosses her mind. She suddenly feels like she can’t look at him anymore, not for a while, at least.

He nods and falls silent as he reads over the articles she’s collected, scribbling notes in his notebook. When he’s done with the articles, he moves on to the photographs. He pauses at the picture of the first victim she’d placed in the green folder. He flips through the others, then spreads them all out in front of him, leaning back against the booth and staring at them intently. 

All of the sudden, Lydia feels a shiver. She frowns a little and glances outside, then, despite her best efforts not to look at him, she glances at Stiles. The look on his face makes her feel like she has no choice but to ask. “Did you find something?”

“There’s eight here,” he states. 

“So far, yes,” she says, cocking her head.

“Plus the three from last night. Eleven.” He shifts a little, tapping his fingers on the table as he thinks. 

“I assume there will be two more,” she says quietly, reaching out for her own folder and opening the red tab, under the subfolder that is marked as _rituals_. 

“Which begs the question of what happens when they hit thirteen,” he says grimly. 

Lydia feels the shiver again, stronger this time. She holds her breath as she shifts uncomfortably on her seat, then shakes her head. “I didn’t make it that far.”

He glances over at her when she shivers, narrowing his eyes. “It’s not that cold in here,” he says, not meanly. “What’s going on?” 

“I don’t know,” she answers sincerely, looking at him for a moment, then out the window. “I feel like it’s about to be.”

Stiles cocks his head at that, glancing around but not seeing or hearing anything out of the norm. He watches her for a moment, then lets his gaze drop back to the folder on rituals. He pulls his phone out and takes pictures of the pages she has in that folder so he’ll have a better chance to study them later. 

She looks outside again, trying to figure out what’s going on and, all of the sudden, it seems to be snowing, more like sleeting. “Stiles,” she says quietly, eyes still outside. Yes, it’s supposed to start getting colder but…not this cold just yet.

He pauses in his reading and glances at her, and then to the window where she’s staring. He sighs. “Awesome,” he mumbles. Now he was going to have to either leave his bike and call a cab or spend the night at the coffee shop until it stopped. 

Slowly, Lydia looks up at the ceiling. She doesn’t move for a good minute or two, eyes on the lamps above. She doesn’t even blink when there’s a loud noise and everything suddenly goes dark.

He watches her shift her gaze to the ceiling right before the power goes out, including outside on the street and everywhere he can actually see. “And it just keeps on getting better.” He reaches into his bag and grabs his flashlight, flipping it on. “I don’t remember hearing about a winter storm on the way.” 

She doesn’t really hear him at all. Over the past few years, she has learned to hold on to her near fugue states, slip further into them without losing consciousness. “We should leave,” she says quietly, a moment later as she finally blinks her eyes and looks over at him again.

He narrows his eyes at her, but doesn’t argue. He slides the articles and pictures back into their folders, pushing hers across the table to her and grabbing his own, shoving it into his bag and picking it up. He learned a long time ago that when Lydia had a feeling, to trust it. He still does. He grabs his cup of coffee and extends his hand toward her instinctively. 

Once her folder is secured inside her bag, she pulls it over her shoulder and is on her feet. She can already hear the screeching tires outside and people yelling at each other. New York is an organized chaos most of the time but with the power outage in at least a big portion of the city, it’s going to be just plain _chaos_ before long.

She nearly bumps into him before she sees his outstretched hand. It’s instinct for her to reach out for it and wraps her fingers about it, even if her head is wondering _why_ he’s doing this at all. “My apartment is a block away,” she says quietly once she steps closer to him.

He feels an electric current go through him when she wraps her fingers around his and he has to hold his breath for a moment before he manages to nod. “I’ll have to leave my bike.” 

“We can push it over, it’ll be safer there,” she tells him, ignoring the way her heart is beating fast against her chest. Ignoring how warm his hand feels around her when everything else feels freezing cold.

He pulls his ski hat out of his bag and holds it out to her wordlessly before guiding her toward the staircase, shining the flashlight down the steps so they don’t end up falling. He can hear a couple people downstairs talking. 

“Oh good, I was about to come up and get you folks. Looks like we gotta close down for the night,” an older man tells them. 

Lydia looks down at the hat he gave her for a moment and something feels warm in her chest because of the gesture. It’s not until the man talks to them that she looks up again. 

“You should lock up and stay safe. I have the feeling things will get crazy out there tonight,” she says, smiling a little at him. It’s more than just a feeling, but she tries her best not to sound completely crazy when she tries to warn strangers.

Stiles tenses at her gentle warning to the man, because he recognizes it for what it is. Tonight there’s going to be trouble and it isn’t just about the weather. He presses his lips together, nodding at the man and leading her toward the door, waiting for her to put the hat on and zip up her coat before they step out into the cold weather. 

She pulls her hair up into a bun and slides the hat on, then looks up at him. “Thank you.” Without waiting for a response, she pushes the door and glances back at him to make sure he’s coming with her. She doesn’t want them to be outside longer than they have to.

He meets her eyes for a moment before nodding once and pushing the door open behind her, grimacing as a blast of sleet hits him in the face. He grits his teeth as he quickly moves toward his bike, kicking up the kickstand and waiting for her to lead the way. 

“This way,” she says, louder than usual so he can hear her over all the noises that, at least to her, are starting to sound overwhelming. She gives him just a second before turning left, down a side street that isn’t as busy as Broadway. Should be safer there, too.

By the time they get to her apartment building, Stiles can barely feel his fingers and his jaw hurts from tension and ice cold rain pelting his skin. He slides his bike in the alley beside her apartment building and follows her up the stairs, sliding his hands into his pockets to try and warm them up. 

Her hands are freezing, too. She’s shivering as she unlocks her apartment door and pushes it open, glancing back at him one more time and waiting for him to follow her inside.

He draws in a breath and lets it out slowly before following her into the apartment, but not going much beyond the front door. He’s dripping wet. Granted, she is too, but it’s her place and he’s just a visitor. He does, however, glance around when he turns his flashlight on. It’s a nice apartment from what he can tell, and unsurprisingly, her living room is wall to wall bookshelves interrupted only by a fireplace. There are books strewn across the room, covering not only the shelves, but the coffee table, the couch and the floor. 

Clearly Lydia’s been in research mode, which is also unsurprising. He exhales slowly, glancing at the direction she had gone, presumably to her room to change. He shines the light back on the nearest books, reading the titles and biting back a grim smile. Definitely not reading for fun. Then again...she is Lydia, and she used to read astro-physics books for fun.

When she comes back into the room, she’s carrying a Columbia sweatshirt and although she shed some of her clothes, she’s still wearing the tights and dress she had been wearing earlier. “I don’t have a lot that would fit you, but this should help. It’s dry, at least.” 

“Thanks,” he says, taking the sweatshirt from her. “Is there a place I can change?” He slides his boots off, leaving them at the door so he doesn’t track through on her carpet. 

“The bathroom is through the bedroom, that way,” she points in the direction where she came from. “You can grab one of the towels from the bathroom cabinet. If you wanna shower, we use gas so there should be hot water.” 

He nearly groans at the thought of a hot shower. As reluctant as he is about being here at all, that one’s too good to pass up. He nods at her. “Thanks,” he tells her. “I won’t be long.” He moves past her, heading into the bedroom and deliberately not paying attention to the decor of the room as he makes a beeline for the bathroom...and the shower. 

Lydia watches him go for a moment, still trying to process the fact that not only is Stiles in New York, but he’s in her apartment. She didn’t have a choice in bringing him here, she knows things are about to get out of control out there in a big way. 

After a moment, she sighs deeply and moves to the fireplace to start a fire. Considering their lack of power and the sudden storm, they’re going to need it. 

 

***

By the time he was done showering, Lydia had already managed to get the fire going. She also picked up a couple of blankets and set them down in front of the fire. Even if they wanted to be in different parts of the apartment, this will be the only warm area. She also set up a few crackers and spreads on the coffee table along with a pot of tea, it’s about the only thing she _can_ offer him without power. 

And despite everything, despite how much she’s changed and the fact that she rarely ever has anyone over these days, she can’t let go of some of her old habits. Like how to be a good hostess.

After he comes out, she goes to shower herself since she’s still wearing wet clothes. About half an hour later, she comes out in leggings, a long sweater and her hair braided to one side. Part of her half expects Stiles to be gone, but he’s still there. Luckily or maybe just because he’s too smart to go out in this weather.

When she comes out, he’s sitting in front of the fire, knees pulled to his chest. His wet clothes are spread out on the hearth, and his gun is set beside him on the floor. He hasn’t touched the crackers and spreads, but he does have a hot cup of tea in front of him. He glances over his shoulder at her when she enters the room again. 

Lydia looks at him for a moment, then makes her way to the small table next to her couch and turns on a small, speaker-like machine. A white noise machine. As soon as the noise starts, she takes a deep breath and reaches to pour herself a cup of tea as well. “Do you need anything?”

Stiles watches her intently, cocking his head slightly at the white noise machine but not mentioning it. He knows what it is and he knows what it’s for. He shakes his head at the question, and picks up his own mug, taking a sip and setting it back down. He looks back at the fireplace, silent for a moment. “How bad has it gotten for you? The voices?” 

She sits across from him in front of the fireplace, picking up her blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. She’s assuming he means right now, not overall. And either way, she doesn’t think he needs to hear how bad it got overall. “I can control it better now. It’s loud, but I can drown them out and --” she nods at the machine. “That helps me focus on what I really need to hear.”

“Well you definitely have the banshee-fu part down,” he says wryly. He presses his lips together for a moment, looking like he wants to say something else, but choosing not to for now. Instead he stretches out, resting his hands behind him on the floor. At least he had clean, dry socks in his bag. “I’m glad you’ve figured it out.” He’s worried about that for years, but worrying about it hadn’t done any good since he’d had no idea where she even was. 

She can’t help but tense a little at his tone, she nods when he says she’s glad she’s figured it out, but she’s more focused on his first sentence. “Did I hurt you last night?”

“I’m fine, Lydia,” he tells her, turning his head to look at her. He meets her eyes for a moment. Getting thrown through a door is the least of his problems at this point. It doesn’t even rate on the list of slightly crappy things that have happened to him.

Silently, she nods and sips on her tea for a moment. She really didn’t expect his answer to change, but she wanted to make sure. Because despite everything, she cares. She always has, it’s why she’s here and not back home. She wants to ask him why _he_ isn’t home, but she knows she doesn’t have that right. So instead, she reaches for her bag that is next to the coffee table and pulls her folder from it. “Did you find anything in here that might be helpful?”

“Yeah, I made a lot of notes and took pictures of the crime scene photos.” It’ll do until he can make actual copies of them. “Anything useful in mine?” he asks, arching his eyebrows. 

“Yeah. I need to look into it a little more closely but a lot of your theories about who they are make sense to me. You’ve always been good at making sense of the supernatural without holding on to ‘normal’ logic,” she comments. It’s something she still lacks, no matter how hard she tries. Stiles embraces the weird and unexplained and bases his theories on what is possible, not on what he knows. Lydia suspects she’ll always be too scientifically minded for that.

He almost smiles at the compliment. Almost. He nods a little in acknowledgment, shrugging a shoulder. “I’ve always had a great imagination.” Hell, he’d spent most of his life believing he was invincible, believing his friends were. Things have a way of falling away the older you get, and you start seeing things for what they really are instead of what you want them to be. 

“It’s more than that,” she comments with a shrug, turning to look at the fire as she pulls her knees up to her chest. “You can see things and connections that most other people can’t. Because you don’t let yourself be stopped by the ‘wouldn’t make sense’ of it all.” 

He glances at her sideways. “I guess.” He looks back at the fire, too. A sudden, loud clap of thunder rattles the walls. “Thunder snow,” he mumbles, pushing himself to his feet to move and look out the window. 

Lydia startles at the noise, glancing over at the window for a moment but not moving otherwise. Instead, she reaches for her phone and starts looking up the weather online. “It wasn’t on the radar,” she says quietly after a moment.

“I know,” he answers grimly. 

“I think it’s _them_ ,” she adds after a moment, maybe unnecessarily. 

“It is,” Stiles confirms without looking back at her. He searches the surrounding street for any sign of the witches, but all he can see is sleet and snow, which are accumulating on the window pane steadily.

She sighs softly and stands up too, making her way toward the window, blanket still wrapped around herself. “All of Manhattan is in the dark. It’s the entire island.” And it terrifies her how powerful they must be to take out so many grids.

“They must have discovered their coven-mate’s dead,” he says flatly. Because they didn’t have enough bodies for the ritual he believes they’re using. Not yet, anyway. And now they were down in their own numbers. Only by one, but still. That sort of thing makes a huge difference when it comes to magic.

She can’t help but shiver at his words. How he just killed that man. Lydia glances up at him. Remembering something else that happened at the house and trying to focus on that, instead. “How did you do it? Turning on the light like that?”

He feels her shiver, and he’s not sure if it’s from the quickly dropping temperatures or if it’s from the situation in general. Probably both. He gives her a sideways glance, pressing his lips together for a moment. “I have the spark.” 

She looks up at him for a moment, something inside of her twisting in a way she doesn’t really comprehend when she holds his gaze. “Like an emissary?” she asks quietly, a little surprised but not quite. Not with the way he easily understands all things supernatural.

“No.” His voice is sharp, but he pauses and looks out the window again. “An emissary is someone who works with and advises an alpha. I work alone.” 

The sharpness there surprises her. She can’t look away from him even as he does. “Then what are you?”

“A lone druid,” he says wryly. Like a lone wolf. He hasn’t entirely lost his terrible sense of humor.

“What about the pack?” Even as she asks the question quietly, she knows she’s gonna regret it. She has no right to ask about it, all things considered. And her chest tightens just thinking about them, just saying the word _pack_. But she still doesn’t know much about why Stiles left. 

“I haven’t been part of Scott’s pack in years,” he says without emotion. 

So he doesn’t know she knows he left. And how would he, considering he hasn’t been contacting Scott in the last couple of years at all? She doesn’t bother pretending she’s surprised, however. She doesn’t want to lie to him. She knows he left, she knows he killed someone before he did. But that’s all she does know. “Why?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he answers, looking at her intently. “You had your reasons. I had mine.” His words are pointed. 

“And I don’t regret leaving.” Not considering all of them are _alive_ still. “But I didn’t _choose_ to leave.” 

It takes everything within him not to flinch back at that. “And you chose to stay gone.” He moves away from the window. “Just like I do.” He checks to see how dry his jeans are by the fireplace. 

She’s been expecting this type of reaction from him. And she doesn’t blame him, no matter how much it hurts. She doesn’t have the _right_ to hurt. Not when it was her choice, and she means it, she stands by her decision to stay out of their lives. 

“Yes, I did. But unlike you, I don’t have the ability to protect them,” she says as she turns around toward him, to face him.

A short, humorless laugh escapes him and he looks up at her dubiously. “They don’t _want_ my kind of protection, Lydia. And I think you’ve already figured that out.” His voice isn’t harsh, just matter of fact. “So let’s cut the Q and A, focus on what’s happening outside, and I’ll get out of your hair again.” 

Lydia stares at him for a moment, her stomach twisting at his words in a whole different way now. Maybe because she imagined what it’d be like to see Stiles again. To see Scott again. And although she always knew that she wouldn’t be able to stick around them even if it did happen, she never thought it’d be like this.

She doesn’t respond to him. She’s not sure there’s anything she _could_ say. Instead, she turns to face the window once more, glad for the darkness in the apartment because the last thing she wants is for Stiles to see how her eyes teared up. She doesn’t want him to feel guilty, not when he’s right. Even if he doesn’t seem to understand the _whys_ , he’s understandably angry at her.

But he’s very much wrong about the fact that he’ll just get to leave again like nothing has happened. Because even though she knows there’s no place for her in the pack, she’ll do everything in her power to make him realize his place is still there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits to our artist **[Oxcenia](http://oxcenia.tumblr.com/)** and our beta **[Summersanginme](http://summersanginme.tumblr.com/)**!

They haven’t said much of anything to each other since Stiles told her to focus on figuring this out. She has no idea how long it’s been, but at some point, she curled up by the fire once again, notes on her lap as she tried her best to figure out what could possibly have caused this storm. 

When her eyes start to hurt from reading in the little light provided by the fire, however, she sets them aside and tries to go for another type of research: she focuses her eyes on the fire and takes a deep breath, crossing her legs in front of herself as she allows the voices to grow louder again. She focuses on the white noise machine to keep herself grounded, but a moment later, she’s not aware of her surroundings at all anymore.

Stiles has been busy not just reading over his own notes and making more, but also using his phone to research more about the rituals he’s zeroed in on. He senses more than hears her move and glances up when she’s risen to her feet, distant expression on her face. He hasn’t been away from Beacon Hills long enough to have forgotten what it means. 

It means they’ve run out of time. 

Stiles reaches out for his bag, shoving his notes and things into it, and sliding his gun into the back of his jeans as he rises to his feet, hefting the bag onto his shoulder. He gets to the door before she does, stopping long enough to retrieve her coat, the hat he’d given her earlier, and her gloves. He holds them out wordlessly, not sure if she’s even aware enough to take them and put them on, but he can’t let her go outside without them. She’ll end up with frostbite or hypothermia. 

Over the years, she has learned to control herself enough not to run out the door naked or in her pajamas. She has had to, since she’d been going through the fugue states on her own. So while she doesn’t look at him, she does reach out to take the coat and pauses to slide her boots on before she continues out the door. “Thank you,” she whispers very quietly before sliding on her gloves on the way out.

He nods slightly but doesn’t respond, knowing he has to be careful not to break her out of it even if he wants to. He’d much prefer she give him the necessary information and stay here where it’s safer than go right out into the middle of danger, but that’s not how it works. It’s never been how it works. He pulls the door shut behind them quietly, following her. 

The nice thing about the fugue states is that she doesn’t _feel_ whatever her body is feeling. So she’s not feeling the cold as she walks through the thick snow that is now covering the sidewalk. The bad thing about them is that she does feel everything that is in her vision. And right now, she’s feeling a surge of anxiety and excitement and fear all mixed together. 

As she walks, she has no idea how much time has passed or how many blocks they’ve been through, but she does eventually stop in an alley, facing the back entrance to something that looks like a store, some kind of underground entrance. In her mind, she can see a man, thin, blond, cowering in a dark corner. 

“He’s alive,” she whispers before finally blinking and turning to look at Stiles.

Stiles has already pulled his gun from his jeans, keeping it hidden in his coat sleeve and pointed toward the ground as he glances back at her. “You get anything else?” he asks quietly, stepping closer to her, eyes darting around.

“He’s in some dark corner, looks like a basement but --” Lydia closes her eyes for a second then shakes her head. “It’s like I can’t see the others. Like they’re invisible. I can’t tell how many there are.”

“Shielding spell,” he murmurs, grimacing. He’s used them himself on occasion. He draws in a breath and then his eyes focus on a door to the side of the building on their left, next to the large blue dumpster. He cocks his head, staring at it intently. 

Lydia is already moving to the back door to open it when she realizes he’s staring like that. She pauses, cocking her head, too. “What are you doing?”

“You can’t just walk in,” he tells her, moving to her side, voice low. 

“I can knock them back as soon as the door is open,” she reminds him.

Stiles presses his lips together and glances up and down the alley. “Something feels off about this,” he says quietly. 

“It does, but we don’t have time, Stiles.” Lydia shakes her head, the chill down her spine feeling stronger all of the sudden. “ _He_ doesn’t have time.”

He doesn’t like this. There’s an unsettled feeling in the pit of his gut, and he feels his shoulders tense at her words. “Let’s go,” he responds, placing his back against the wall beside the door and meeting her eyes for a moment before reaching for the handle. 

She holds his gaze and nods, takes a deep breath as he reaches to open the door. As soon as he pulls it open, she doesn’t hesitate as she screams, using her hands to direct the force of her scream forward and away from Stiles. There’s not much she can see considering the complete darkness inside the room, but she knows there were at least two people in the way of her scream.

He doesn’t see it, but he feels the way the energy is thrown when she screams, hears the results of it: bodies crashing into things the way his had the previous night when she’d thrown him. He mutters something under his breath and the room lights up; nine individuals revealed when the darkness sinks away. It won’t last long, and neither will the witches remain stunned but momentarily. He sees the victim in the corner, cowering just the way Lydia had described and he makes a beeline for the guy, yanking him up by the collar of his jacket and hauling him toward the door as the individuals start to get back up. He gives him a shove toward Lydia’s general direction before turning his gun on the nearest witch. “One wrong move and she dies,” he warns the others. 

Lydia looks from Stiles to the man that is now making his way toward her. She stretches out a hand and steps forward, trying to put herself between her and the door so he can make his escape. The witch closest to her, the one the she hit the hardest is completely out, blood coming out of his ears and she feels a twinge of guilt in her stomach. She meant to knock them out, yes, but not hurt them. And she knows that when she goes far enough to make someone’s ear bleed, she almost went too far. She almost _killed_ him. 

It takes her a moment and a deep breath before she can shake it off. Then she focuses on the thin man again, who is almost in front of her. She takes his hand and pulls him toward the door faster than he can walk. “Hurry, get out of here.” 

From the corner of his eye, he can see Lydia making her way out of the building with the intended sacrifice. He presses the barrel of his gun against the woman’s head as the others get off the floor, watching him intently. He feels it again, that flicker of _something isn’t right_ and he grits his teeth. The light flickers and he knows there are only seconds before he’s plunged into darkness. Knows he has to make a call on what to do because time is almost up.

She sees the lights flicker. Sees Stiles’ hesitation and her stomach clenches. There are too many of them. It’s too dangerous. With a deep breath, she whispers quietly, directioning her voice toward Stiles with her hand so she can be sure he’ll hear her and no one else in the room will. “Come. Let’s go,” is all she says. 

He hears her voice, but he feels it, too, dancing across his skin like the faintest caress, disarming his defenses even though he knows what he needs to do. Knows what he _should_ do, knows what will likely happen if he doesn’t. But the light fizzles out and so does his absolutely certainty. Throwing out a quick deflection spell, he backs up and out of the basement, slamming the door shut behind him. 

She has her eyes on Stiles until he’s next to her, then she runs out with him and looks around the empty street. Unsurprisingly, the man they just saved has bolted. And she doesn’t blame him, but it’d have been nice to have the chance to ask him some questions. Instead, she turns to Stiles and nods. 

“Let’s go,” she says again, this time in her normal voice. They need to make a run for it too, before all nine come after them.

“They’ll try again,” he tells her, certainty back again.

“I know, but we need a plan.” Without warning, she reaches for his hand and tugs him back in the direction toward her house. “We need to leave.”

He hesitates, glancing over his shoulder at the door, thinks of the matches in his jeans pocket, and lets her drag him away. 

***

They make it back to her apartment after about half an hour. Somehow, she apparently walked over twenty blocks South during her fugue state and because of the amount of snow on the streets, her legs are actually sore as she climbs the front steps to her apartment. She reaches into her pockets, but stills by the door for a second before turning to him. “Do you have my keys?”

“Yeah.” He plunges his hand into his pocket, fingers stiff and cold as he holds the keys out to her without another word, lips pressed together in a grim line.

Lydia takes the keys and lets them in. As soon as she’s inside the apartment, she removes her boots, dropping them by the door before making a beeline to the fireplace to get it going again. As soon as she kneels down, though, she gasps quietly, wincing at the stiffness in her legs.

Stiles rakes a hand through his hair, follows her inside and closes the door, using his index finger to draw invisible sigils to conceal her apartment from magic users who weren’t him. He turns when she gasps, and unwillingly, concern blooms in his chest and he moves across the room quickly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You all right?” 

She nods slightly, rubbing her hands over her thighs to try and warm them up. She went out wearing only leggings, after all. It’s not nearly warm enough. Not as warm as the hand he has on her shoulder. It’s almost like it’s shooting electricity right through her body. 

Lydia takes a deep breath and looks up at him, her chest tightening at the concern that is so obvious on his face all of the sudden. Probably the most open expression she’s seen from him since the shock from when ran into each other again. “Yeah. Just -- didn’t realize my legs were so stiff.” 

“Sit,” he instructs, gently guiding her to the blanket pallet on the floor. “I’ll get the fire going again.” 

There’s really not much she can do but to sit down. She pulls a blanket on her lap and sighs softly as she stretches her legs in front of herself. “What were you doing?” she asks after a moment. “To the door, I mean.”  
His eyebrows raise slightly at her observance and for a moment he feels that sense of awe for her that he hasn’t felt in a long time since they haven’t been around each other. Because they haven’t talked. “Did you grow eyes in the back of your head?” His voice is lighter than it has been since they were years younger and in a different place. He turns back to the fireplace, needing a moment to push away the feeling, the memories, the person he used to be. 

The lighter tone has an effect almost as strong as his touch. It makes her chest feel warm and she does smile slightly at it. Probably the first smile she’s directed toward him since they last saw each other back home. “I felt something. Something -- bright and warm.” 

“I’m lighting the fire,” he responds, though he knows that isn’t what she means. Knows that banshees pick up on the supernatural faster than druids even, and Lydia’s always been exceptional at _everything._

Her smiles falters at his lack of answer and she looks down at her legs. She knows he knows exactly what she was talking about but he obviously doesn’t wanna tell her anything. His words from the earlier that night about the Q and A ring through her head and she just takes a deep breath and lets it go. Maybe it’s better if she doesn’t know too much, anyway. She won’t miss him the way she did the first time when he’s gone.

“Elemental magic,” he says after a moment. “Basic, but effective. Protective runes. They won’t find your place no matter how hard they try to scry for it or do a location spell.” She’ll be safe, at least, as far as her home goes.

She _is_ surprised when he actually does answer her, she looks up, toward him again.

“Safe,” she mutters quietly, pursing her lips together. That’s what she felt. Bright and warm. It was safety. Like the blanket over her lap. Like the fire he’s building. They’re saving her from the cold and his spell is saving her from this coven. 

He doesn’t look back at her, doesn’t have to, just nods in acknowledgment of her response and uses the poker to stoke the fire a bit more, feeling the warmth seep into his digits and limbs. He’s silent for a long moment. “They’ll be looking. Regrouping.” All they’ve done is manage to piss them off more. 

With a deep breath, she nods slightly. Focus back on the investigation, before someone else gets taken. “It doesn’t make sense. One guy to kill the man and the children, _nine_ to go after a guy that must have weighed all of 140 pounds.”

He stares at the flames, wonders what kind of conversation they’d be having right now if he’d gone with his own instincts back there. Wonders if he’d be on his way back out of the city, leaving her to her space and her life where he has no place and doesn’t belong. “We don’t know there weren’t more at the house before we got there.” 

“No, but -- there were _three_ bodies in that house. And somehow this place felt _heavier_ than the house did.” She sighs softly, shaking her head. “I think we alerted them.”

“We were sloppy,” he says, but it isn’t said in a judgmental way. Just in a way that reflects his honest thoughts about the matter. 

And all she can think about is how she shouldn’t have let him kill that man. But she wasn’t fast enough. He wasn’t expecting to do it. She rubs a hand over her face. “Is there something you can do to conceal _us_?”

“Concealing a human in constant motion is considerably more difficult than a place that doesn’t move,” he answers, shoulders tensing a little. “Not impossible, but not exactly easy either. Especially not in the long-term sense.” 

It makes sense. It’s not the answer she was hoping for but apparently the moving targets thing applies even when it comes to magic. “If you want to research, I’ll just -- slip back in there and see what I can hear.” 

“No,” he says, turning to look at her over his shoulder. “We’ve got time. They’re regrouping and we need to do the same. Sleep.” 

Lydia sighs softly in response. Yes, she’s exhausted, but there’s no feeling worse than feeling someone is about to die when you’re sleeping. It’s harder for her to wake up from the vision and take action. “I’ll set up the couch for you.” 

“No. I need to go get supplies,” he tells her, rising to his feet. “And you need to stay close to the fire otherwise you’ll freeze. I’ll move the couch closer and you can use it.” 

“Supplies?” she echoes as she moves to stand up too. Her legs are still numb but not hurting nearly as much.

“Can’t go to war with a coven of witches with a few protective runes and a gun with four bullets left,” he informs her. He reaches out to steady her when she stands, instinctive and unconscious, as it’s always been.

Lydia stills when he helps her, her heart skipping a beat, but she shrugs it off. 

“You can’t go out there alone,” she warns him before she can stop herself. They haven’t seen each other in over three years but she _felt_ every single time he was in danger. Sometimes with enough notice to warn Scott, back when he was in Beacon Hills still, but not always. She doesn’t want to feel that again and know she could have done something to prevent it.

“I’ve gone a lot of places alone in a lot more danger than our current circumstances and come out of it okay.” He doesn’t mean to throw it in her face, but it’s fact. “I’ll be fine.” He squeezes her shoulder without thinking, moving to put his boots on. 

She doesn’t feel like she has the right to stop him, so she doesn’t try to do it again. Instead, she’ll just go back between the worlds and keep an eye on him as much as she can while he’s out there. “I don’t know how much you’ll find open out there today but --” she hesitates before walking over to her kitchen counter, picking up a piece of paper and writing an address for him. “I found a lot of the books I have in this store. The front is Wiccan, but there’s a lot more in there.” 

He laces up his boots, then rises to his feet to take the paper from her when she holds it out. He glances at the address, checks the battery on his phone -- 60% charged, good enough. “Okay.” He gazes at her for a moment. “Rest,” he stresses. “Banshees need sleep, too.” 

“Don’t Druids?” she asks, holding his gaze, a concerned expression on her face. At least the sun is out, it should keep him warmer and safer. But it doesn’t make her like the idea of this any more.

“Not _ghost_ druids,” he tells her, faint smile on his face but something heavier in his eyes before he turns to leave. 

That doesn’t ease her worries. She frowns slightly, wrapping her arms around herself as she watches him leave. “Be careful.” 

He lifts his hand in a wave as response, and slips out of her apartment silently.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits to our artist **[Oxcenia](http://oxcenia.tumblr.com/)** and our beta **[Summersanginme](http://summersanginme.tumblr.com/)**!

He’s only gone for a few hours, and when he returns, he lets himself into Lydia’s apartment with the spare key. All is quiet inside so he slips his boots off, closes the door and locks it before moving silently toward the kitchen. He sets his bag down on the table, glancing back to the living room and spotting Lydia curled up in a tight ball on the sofa, eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly. Asleep, even if she seems stressed as she sleeps. 

Stiles exhales, letting his shoulders drop and rolling his neck as he tries to get his own tension to dissipate. This wasn’t part of the plan. None of this had been part of the plan. The plan had been to track down the coven that was sacrificing people, decimate them, and vanish again. That’s who he is. That’s who he has to be. 

Still, running into Lydia has thrown him for a loop. He used to imagine what it would be like to see her again. To be walking down the street one day and see her face through the crowd and freeze in his steps as she froze in hers, shocked to see him too. On occasion he’d imagined that she’d be happy to see him. Most of the time, even in his own mind, he imagines her turning and fleeing. 

He rubs a hand over his face and unzips his bag as quietly as possible, pulling out the supplies he’d found (stolen), and some more of his personal arsenal. He lays a 9mm down first, then his 45, then his Smith and Wesson, and finally his .38 Ruger. He rakes a hand through his hair before loading all of them with the maximum rounds in each, and sits down as he cleans them, glancing toward the living room once more and holding his breath for a moment. 

This definitely isn’t the reunion he’d once hoped for, even if it’s the one that he supposes shouldn’t be surprising given his lifestyle of choice. And hers, apparently. 

“I think I found something,” she announces a moment later as she slowly sits up on the couch, pulling her hair over her shoulder and smooths it down as she does. She’s grown used to tracking people in fugue states, but somehow, none of them appear to her as clearly as Stiles does.

When she suddenly sits up he blinks and cocks his head to the side. “You weren’t sleeping at all, were you?” he asks suspiciously. 

Lydia shakes her head a little and takes a deep breath as she stands up, her eyes a little sleepy as she walks into the kitchen to try and make some coffee. “Did you find what you --” She pauses when she sees a collection of guns all over the table, frowning a little as she looks from them, to him.

He sees it, the surprise that changes quickly to unease, but he doesn’t comment. There’s a reason he works alone. “Some of it, yeah.” He motions to the various bottles and bags of herbs and ingredients in his backpack. “What did you find?” And why didn’t you sleep, he wonders. 

She glances at the backpack then turns away as she heads toward the kitchen counter. If this was any other time, she’d tell him he can’t have guns in her house. As it is, she’d rather have him stay there, at least long enough for her particular email to have the desired effect. 

“I found a location that seemed to be completely blocked out from view. It was almost like -- an entire building had been painted black and it was merging with the background.”

“Definitely sounds like our place.” He thinks about that for a moment. “But they have to know by now that you’re a banshee and that their usual mode of operation won’t be enough to stop us from finding them.” 

“They probably do,” she agrees quietly, starting to heat up water as she sets up the coffee maker. “But if they’re at all smart, they should also know that planning to kill us is just going to make them easier to find.”

He’s not betting that they care that much. The coven has a lot more bodies than the two of them, and more firepower of the magic kind. He watches her set up the coffee pot. “I don’t think that’s going to help you sleep, Lydia.” 

“I’m not going to sleep, Stiles. You are,” she points out, not bothering to look at him as she pulls a mug from the cupboard. 

“Doubtful,” he responds without missing a beat. He’s got too much to do to sleep. He’ll sleep when the problem is handled and he’s out of town again.

She’s not expecting him to just accept what she’s saying, but she knows she can defend her point without a problem. “You walked, how many blocks? You’ve been up for almost two days. I’m not going anywhere with you until you rest and I can be sure your ability to focus is sharp enough that when we face over ten witches on our own, we have the chance of making it out alive.”

His jaw tightens at that. “Fine. If I’m sleeping, so are you,” he responds, arching his eyebrows. “For all the same reasons.” If he’s tired -- which he is, even if his brain is wide awake -- then she has to be too. 

“I have been resting while you were out there.” This time, she does turn to face him. “And I’m clearly not the one handling firearms.” 

He gives her a look. “Being in a fugue state isn’t resting, so try again.” 

Lydia sighs heavily and shuts off the stove, then turns to look at him. “Fine. But you take the couch.” And it may sound like a punishment but she knows he’s smart enough to get that she means because of the fireplace. He was outside, he needs to warm up.  
The corners of his mouth quirk up involuntarily, and he presses his lips together to suppress a smile. “You can have the couch. I’ll take the floor.” It’s where he sleeps most of the time anyway. 

“Why are you so stubborn?” she asks, more than a hint of frustration in her voice.

“Why are you?” he tosses back. 

“I wouldn’t be able to deal with you otherwise,” she points out, not even thinking about what the implication there means. “I’m serious, you’re taking the couch.”

His smile fades instantly and he turns his attention back to his weapons. “Whatever.” 

She stills at his tone, at the change in his expression and her chest clenches. Maybe she’s said too much. Maybe she should apologize but -- she doesn’t think he wants to hear it. So without another word, she makes her way across the apartment and toward her bedroom. 

He doesn’t want to hear it because it wouldn’t be truthful. She’s not sorry she left and he doesn’t want to hear a lie. He rises to his feet, sliding his weapons back into his bag after securing the safeties on all of them. Then he moves to the living room wordlessly, not bothering to change out of the clothes he’s wearing as he stretches out on the floor and lays down in front of the fireplace. 

***

Resting hadn’t been as easy as she’d hoped. Not with the guilt that flared up after Stiles’ reaction to her comment. But again, she doesn’t blame him for being mad at her. She’s surprised he doesn’t hate her. 

By the time they managed to make it out of the apartment, she feels like they’ve mostly shaken off the tension. Only they fall back into that disconnected, numb silence that is far from comfortable. But for now, she’s not pushing for anything. They have to focus on this coven, on making sure they can help the next victims before it’s too late. 

“I think a couple more blocks this way,” she says as she leads them around a corner, toward the place she saw earlier that seemed to be hidden from view. 

Stiles is on high alert despite the briefness of his nap. Still, he’s done with less than forty-five minutes on more than one occasion, as far back as high school. Farther back if you count before he got entangled into the world of the supernatural. 

He follows her, his .38 in one hand and a supernatural warding concoction bottled in the other. He glances around as they head toward the building from her banshee premonition. He eyes it warily, reaching out and catching her wrist before they can get any closer to it. “We should keep an eye on it for a little while.” 

She stills when he wraps his fingers on her wrist, her heart skipping a beat. “We need to make sure they don’t see us at all. Some of them will recognize us,” she reminds him, then glances around the street, looking for a place where they could hide.

Stiles presses his lips together as he nods, letting go of her wrist quickly and sliding his gun into the back of his pants. He surveys the area, but tenses as he hears footsteps approaching. His heart leaps into his throat and without thinking, he grabs hold of her, meeting her eyes for a moment and giving her an apologetic look before his lips descend on hers in a kiss. 

Even if she could, she wouldn’t have had time to react. She had just turned to look at the alley down the street when all of the sudden, he was pulling her and looking her in the eye. It’s not until his lips press against her that she realizes what he’s doing. Or -- actually, she’s not sure _why_ he’s doing this at all. 

But all of the sudden, he’s wrapping his arms around her, and he has his warm lips on hers and although she lifts her hands to his shoulders with every intention of pushing him away, all she manages to do is hold on to him so she doesn’t lose her balance.

He lifts a hand to her face even as he slowly pulls away a few seconds later as the footsteps pass them. He holds his breath, swallowing heavily and then nods ever so-slightly in the direction the individual’s gone.

Lydia takes a deep breath, her eyes wide and dark as she blinks them open to look up at him. She’s about to ask when she realizes he’s nodding, so she glances in that direction and when she sees a man making his way toward the building they’re supposed to be investigating, she feels like everything inside of her grows cold again. 

“Oh,” she whispers quietly, looking down and away as she pulls her hands from his shoulders and takes a step back, away from him.

“Sorry,” he mutters, stepping away from her, too. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks away, trying to ignore the dull ache in his chest. “First thing that came to mind.” He knows he doesn’t have to explain it, that she understands already, but he feels like he needs to anyway. 

She can’t really bring herself to answer to his apology or to acknowledge what he’s saying at all. She did get it, and the reassurance that it was just a way to avoid attention only makes it worse. She can’t even remember the last time she actually kissed someone. But Lydia just sighs softly and shakes her head, trying to shake it off. To shake _him_ off. 

“This way,” she mutters at him, making her way down the street and stepping into the alley right in front of the house. “We can shield ourselves with this ATM.”

He bites down hard on his tongue as he follows her wordlessly, eying the ATM and realizing how close they’re going to have to get in order to stay hidden. This is a terrible idea, he thinks. He ducks behind it, though, and waits for her to do the same. 

It _is_ tighter than she expected. But she manages to slide in with him just the same, turning immediately and keeping her eyes on the building across the street. Still, it’s hard to focus when she can _feel_ the warmth of his body right behind her.

It’s a very, very tight space and he leans his head back against the wall, trying very hard to remind himself to pay attention to the building and not on the fact that her ass is pressed up against him, her hair so close to him that he can smell the strawberry scent of her shampoo. “This isn’t going to work,” he hisses. 

“ _What_?” she whispers, turning to face him and pausing when she sees the look on his face. The way his eyes are darker and the way his cheeks are a little redder than before. Her instinct is to press closer to him, to make that look on his face even more obvious. But she shuts down that thought as soon as she has it. Because it’s ridiculous.

Her facing him in that close of proximity isn’t any better than her faced away from him within the same proximity and he can’t help but glare at her because she has to know exactly what he’s talking about. “I can’t exactly focus like this.” 

And she can’t, either. But right now, it comes down to a severe lack of options. “Do you have any better ideas?”

“You go home and I take care of this myself?” he suggests, arching his eyebrows, and peeking around her. 

“It was them. It had to be,” he hears a woman say, and he quickly ducks back.

“There’s absolutely _no_ way I --” Lydia starts, then stills completely, her heart skipping a beat. She can’t see who is talking since her back is facing the street but she looks up at Stiles with wide eyes.

“ _Find_ them,” one of the man barks at her. “We end this now.”

“We need to move,” he tells hers almost inaudibly. He glances toward the back of the alley. “Go. That way. When you reach the end of the alley, make a right. I’ll be right behind you.” 

Lydia doesn’t like that idea, but she knows she needs to move so that he can. She takes a deep breath and slides out from behind the ATM very quietly, then presses close to the wall as she makes her way further down the alley. She can still hear them talking, she knows they don’t have much time.

He follows her, but pulls his gun from his belt, keeping his eyes at the opposite end of the alley where the voices are coming closer. They round the corner in quick succession and he meets her eyes momentarily before pointing across the street and grabbing her hand. “Run,” he whispers. 

She wraps her fingers around his without hesitation as they take off running, every now and then, glancing over her shoulder to make sure they aren’t being chased. In her head, she can hear footsteps, what sounds like a stampede and she knows what it means. “They’re coming!”

“I know.” He stops in the middle of the road, yanking the glass bottle out of his pocket and heaving it at the pavement, shattering it and releasing the contents before grabbing her hand again and yanking her toward the abandoned gas station. He leads the way toward the back, reaching out and tugging on the loose board. “Inside.” 

Lydia doesn’t even question it this time, she rushes inside the gas station, ducking a little to avoid touching the board. It’s making the footsteps sound more distance, so whatever his idea is, it seems to be working.

He squeezes his way through the boards and in the broken window, securing the board in place once more after they’re inside. He listens, but hears nothing from outside. Still. He puts a finger to his lips, moves across the room as quietly as possible and grabs a sleeping bag off the floor, then heading for the janitor’s closet. “In here.” 

The fact that there is a sleeping bag in there at all is weird. As she follows him into the closet, she realizes there are also discarded protein bar wrappers, empty soda cans and candles that have been used. With a frown on her face, she looks around the janitor’s closet and realizes it looks cleaner than the rest of the abandoned and dusty gas station. But it’s not until he’s inside with her and the door is closed that she speaks up, “What is this place?”

“My temporary landing pad,” he responds, rolling up the sleeping bag the best that he can in confined quarters and tying it shut. “The ward evil spells are stronger in here than the general station.” 

“You were _living_ here?” she gasps. Now that the footsteps are almost gone, this seems more important than the ward information.

“Sleeping here,” he corrects her matter-of-factly. Living is definitely an overestimation of his time at the gas station. 

“This place is _filthy_ , Stiles. And anyone could come in here. Not to mention, there’s absolutely no heat.” And unconsciously, she wraps her arms around herself because despite the running and the adrenaline, there is no heat and she’s starting to feel that.

“We were just being chased by a coven of witches who want to murder us and you’re worried about where I was sleeping?” He gives her a look the best he can in the mostly dark room. 

She doesn’t need to see the look he’s giving her. She can hear it perfectly clear in his voice. “You’re not sleeping here anymore.” 

“No, considering it’s only two blocks away from Evil Incorporated, I’m definitely planning to relocate.” He sighs, moving his hands over the shelves on the wall until they land on the flashlight he was looking for. He flicks it on.

“You’re staying with me,” she says, looking up at him the exact moment when he turns the flashlight on.

“Until this is over,” he responds. Because he won’t leave her on her own until it is anyway. 

“Right,” she agrees, her chest tightening as she looks away. It is the best thing to do and she knows it. With a soft sigh, she drops her hands to her sides again, accidently brushing her hand down his arm and over his hand as she does. It’s not like they have that much space.

The touch is unexpected and a shudder works its way down his spine as his eyes narrow, darkening when he looks at her, holding his breath. A simple touch shouldn’t have that much impact on him, but this is Lydia. She’s always had that kind of effect on him. 

She holds her breath too when she feels him shudder. When she sees the look on his face, despite herself, she turns toward him. The same urge to step closer to him and intensify the look on his face taking over again, but this time, she doesn’t stop herself from moving closer.

“What are you doing?” he whispers, voice barely audible as she enters his personal space, heart pounding hard in his chest. The urge to reach out and touch her is palpable, and after a second, one of his hands settles at her hip.

His hand on her hip is enough to make her step forward a little more, her breasts nearly touching his chest as she lifts both hands to his arms, this time, without hesitation. 

“You’re leaving,” she reminds him. He has to leave. They aren’t the people they were in high school anymore. He isn’t one of her best friends anymore. She doesn’t _have_ friends, let alone a best friend. She’s on her own. And it has to be this way. But for this short, briefest period, she has him. And he’s _close_. She misses him so much. She misses being close to someone. She misses having someone to lean on and to help. She misses having someone who _cares_. And despite everything, she knows he does. He always has. 

And maybe it’s selfish as she reaches up and wraps a hand behind his neck, but she wants something before he goes. She wants this connection. She wants this _spark_ she feels every time he touches her. The warmth he makes her feel inside. She needs all of this so she has something to hold on to when she’s alone again.

“I am,” he agrees, voice hushed as her hand settles behind his neck, pulling him closer to her. His gaze drops to her mouth and he licks his suddenly dry lips. It’s not as if it’s a choice at this point. Even if he wanted to stay, she wouldn’t want that and he’s not willing to push the way he used to. He lifts his other hand to cradle her cheek in his palm, stroking over her soft skin with his thumb. 

Lydia looks up at him for a moment, her heart beating fast against her chest. She then reaches for the flashlight he set down and turns it off so they’re in complete darkness again. It helps her work up the nerve to finally tiptoe and brush her lips over his. And that _pull_ she felt in the house the first night she found him hits her a lot stronger this time.

A soft groan escapes him as she kisses him and the darkness gives him the courage to tug her closer to him, letting her drag him down to deepen the kiss. Memories surge through him as he slides his hand into her hair. She’s the first girl he ever danced with. That he had a crush on for most of his life. The only one he’s ever _loved._

That he _still_ loves. 

And he’s missed her like a missing limb since the day she walked out of his life. He shifts, pressing closer to her, her back up against the door. 

As soon as she has the door to support her, she wraps a leg around him, her eyes tearing up as she wraps both arms around his neck and kisses him harder. 

She can’t help but remember all the times Stiles looked at her that made her feel like she wasn’t alone. All the times he _believed_ in her abilities when even she didn’t trust them herself. All the times he believed in _her_. Period. In ways not even Allison and Scott ever did. Certainly not her parents. 

She also can’t help but remember what it felt like when he started to slip away from her. When he started to be there less. Seeing him with Malia… she remembers how much it hurt, how _jealous_ she felt when she realized he wanted him to be talking to her. To be giving her his attention. Instinctively, her arms tighten around him, leg hooking higher around his waist as she pulls him closer to her. 

And although she doesn’t mean for it to happen, pulls him sharply against her, pressing against her in all the right places. She can’t help the moan that builds up in her throat.

That sound alone is nearly enough to kill him. He breaks the kiss to breathe, but also to start kissing a trail across her jaw and down her neck. The rational part of his brain tells him that this is a bad idea, that crossing this line will end up destroying him emotionally in ways that he hasn’t even allowed himself to _feel_ in years. “Tell me you want this,” he whispers, nipping at her earlobe. The physicality of the situation seems like a given, but he’s never been one to take things like this for granted. 

And he’s not about to start it with Lydia of all people. 

“I want this,” she whispers the words as she shivers, lifting her head for him, sliding her fingers through his hair as she tries desperately to pull him as close as possible. There are too many layers of clothes on both of them right now and she needs contact. “ _Stiles_.”

He wonders momentarily if this is real, or just another dream that he’s going to wake up from after dealing with some kind of evil supernatural case. He always dreams of Lydia after those nights. He pulls away from her, hooking his hand beneath her leg and lowering it from around his waist, reaching out for the flashlight once more and flicking it on. He aims it toward the wall and gazes at her for a moment before grabbing his sleeping bag off the shelf and untying it, spreading it down on the floor. He kneels down on it, holding his hand up to her wordlessly. 

She blinks her eyes a few times because of the light, but she doesn’t waste time before shedding her coat once she realizes what he’s doing. With a deep breath, she wraps her fingers around his and holds his gaze as she kneels down in front of him.

Stiles meets her eyes again, sliding his free arm around her to pull her closer before capturing her lips once more, reclining back on the sleeping bag as he does so, and placing a hand behind her head to pillow it as he lays her down. He rests a hand against her neck, stroking his fingers against her skin as he gazes at her. “You’re still beautiful,” he murmurs. 

Her chest feels tight at his words. _This_ is something that only Stiles has ever managed to do to her. Make her feel special. Maybe _adored_ is the closest she can come up with. She doesn’t know what to say to him, she never knew what to say before. But her eyes tear up slightly once more and she smiles as she turns to face him. It will _hurt_ when he leaves, and she almost tells him she’s missed him, but she knows she doesn’t have the right to. So instead, she leans in and kisses him deeply once again.

He closes his eyes when she kisses him again, and he shifts closer to her, propping himself up on his left elbow as he kisses her back. He lets his hand trail down her neck again, tugging her sweater to the side and off her shoulder. He pulls away from her so that he can kiss her there, too. Never in a million years had he really believed this would ever be happening. Hell, he’d resigned himself almost two years before to the fact that he was never going to see her again. He’s dying to touch her more -- to touch her _everywhere_ and to make this last as long as possible. 

As soon as his lips are on her skin, she shivers again. It’s such a simple gesture, but it’s enough to send a bolt of energy through her entire body. She slides her fingers through his hair, encouraging him as she moves her other hand into his jacket and does her best to push it off of him.

He moves so that she can strip him of the jacket and lets it fall behind him carelessly then returns to his task at hand -- kissing every inch of her skin that he can get to while she’s still fully dressed. “I think you’re gonna have to sit up for a minute,” he tells her with a small smile. 

Lydia opens her eyes and looks up at him for a moment. She leans a little closer to him as she pushes herself up without thinking twice. “What for?”

“So I can undress you,” he informs her, reaching for the bottom of her sweater and raising his eyebrows in a silent question. _Are you sure?_

She holds his gaze and nods slightly as she holds her breath. She’s tried moving on since Aiden, but with everything that changed in her life, she hasn’t really been able to. Yes, she has been dragged to parties and bars from people she’s met at school but -- the second anyone tried kissing him a little more heavily, she’d bolted. Stiles has been the _only_ person she’s felt comfortable with to get to this point again. She _is_ comfortable with him. Everything about the looks he’s giving her, the way he’s touching her, the way he’s _kissing_ her is just making her want more. 

For a moment, it all melts away. Everything bad from the last few years, and it’s just Stiles and Lydia, albeit a rated R version of Stiles and Lydia. He holds his breath as he carefully tugs her sweater off and over her head, letting it drop to the sleeping bag as he meets her eyes. He offers her a soft smile as he shifts closer to her, reaching out and resting his hands on her hips. “Come here,” he murmurs. 

Her face softens and she shifts closer, keeping her eyes on his as she reaches for the buttons of his shirt and starts undoing them one by one. They’ve never done anything like this at all. Sure, they’d kissed that one time when he was having a panic attack, but that hardly counts. This, it shouldn’t feel as safe, as comfortable as this. But it does. And she’s not going to argue against what feels _right_. She has spent the last three and half years trying to learn to follow her instincts.

He tries to ignore the sudden flare of self-consciousness he feels as she starts unbuttoning his shirt. He focuses on her instead, because while he’d seen her naked once before -- he’d promptly tripped over his own feet and face-planted in the _dirt_ \-- and secondly, that was years ago. He takes a deep breath before he lowers his lips to press tenderly against her collarbone, and her neck as he tugs her closer, into his lap. 

Lydia doesn’t hesitate at all before climbing on to his lap, straddling his legs as she presses her knees to the sleeping bag on either side of him. Once she’s done with his buttons, she pushes his shirt off. She runs her fingers down his arms as she shifts closer to him, lightly pressing her hips against his and shivering when she can feel him pressing against his pants.

He hisses involuntarily when she settles against him and presses down. His fingers tighten on her hips for a second before he releases her, letting his hands slide up her mostly bare torso, covered now only by a lacy pink bra. He sees the faint white scar from where Peter had attacked her all those years ago and his fingers trail over it gently, almost reverently. 

She shudders when he touches the scar tissue on her side. It doesn’t _bother_ her, really. He knew it would be there. But still, it’s a weird sensation when he touches it so lightly. Instead of focusing on that, though, she leans her head down and presses her lips gently to his neck as she slides her hands into his undershirt and starts pushing it up slowly.

A shudder runs through _him_ when she slides her hands beneath his final layer of shirts. He licks his lips, feeling like every inch of him is on fire. He hesitantly slides his hands up, skimming over her ribs, pausing momentarily at the bottom of her bra. A second later, he gently cups her in his hands, lifting his gaze to look at her. He leans in and presses his lips against her jaw. It’s been a long, long time since he’s been with anyone. Years.

The light touch on her breast is enough for her to let out a quiet moan against his neck. She presses her lips to his skin, then brushes her teeth over his pulse point lightly before pulling back, away from him enough so she can pull his shirt up and off the rest of the way.

He can barely contain a groan when she moans like that and he swallows heavily, reluctantly pulling away from her more so she can tug his undershirt off. Then he reaches out and pulls her closer once more, needing to feel her skin against his own. He slides one hand up and into her hair, hips lifting involuntarily to meet hers. 

Considering her leggings are hardly thick and how much she can _feel_ when he presses against her like that, she can’t help but moan again. And whatever little control she had left flies out the window. She discards his undershirt somewhere on the floor then leans right into him again, wrapping her arms around him as she presses her lips to his once more, this time, kissing him hard as she pulls him as close as humanly possible.

And just like that, his demeanor goes from hesitant to bold and he slides his hands up her back, undoing the clasp of her bra and sliding it down and off her shoulders as their lips meet in a heated collision and he shifts them down, laying her down on the floor once more, this time beneath him. 

Even as he shifts them, she only lets go of him long enough for her to shrug her bra off. Then she’s pulling him to her, wrapping her arms around him for a second as she presses her tongue against his. But just a moment later, she pulls her arms away and slides her hands between them so she can work his belt and pants off. Because this lack of contact is just not enough for her anymore.

It’s not enough for him either and he reaches for the elastic waistband of her leggings, tugging at them to try and get them off her. He leans down long enough to press a kiss against her stomach and then covers her hands with his, stilling them and pulling back so he’s sitting up on his knees, undoing the belt himself and tossing it aside. 

Lydia sits up slightly when he pulls away. As soon as his belt is off, she reaches to undo the button on his jeans, followed by his zipper. She’s not surprised when his jeans slide down without much effort. With a deep breath, she looks up at him for a moment, then cups him through his boxers, watching him closely for his reaction.

Stiles jumps involuntarily because he wasn’t expecting that just yet, and his eyes widen. “Jesus, Lydia. Give a guy some warning,” he jokes, letting out a shaky breath. 

She grins up at him, but a moment later, her grins dissolves into a smirk as she leans closer and presses a kiss just under his belly button. “You don’t need a warning, you need to come closer,” she says as she hooks her fingers on the elastic of his boxers and tugs it down gently.

“No disagreements here,” he groans, shifting so he can shed the underwear too, leaving him completely nude.

Lydia quickly pushes her leggings and underwear the rest of the way as he does. Once they’re both done, she reaches for his neck and pulls him down toward her once again.

He locks eyes with her, gaze intense but full of warmth at the same time. He slides his hand slowly down her body to rest on her thigh, rubbing circles there. “Never really thought this would happen,” he admits quietly.

“I don’t know what kind of magic you’re doing,” she mutters as she shivers again just from having him touch her thigh. With a deep breath, she hooks her leg over his hip keeping her eyes on him. “But right now, I can’t imagine it _not_ happening.” 

He licks his lips, groaning softly when she tugs him closer to her. He wants to take his time. He wants to explore her, to find out what she likes, to make her feel good. He doesn’t want to be like other guys. Not with her. He slides his hand up so he’s cupping her core. “Tell me if I do anything you don’t like,” he murmurs, ducking his head down and kissing her softly. 

And while normally she’d be _all_ about exploring, right now, she doesn’t wanna wait another second. She barely manages a nod before he’s touching her and kissing her and she moans loudly against his lips, both legs locking around him as she instinctively tries to pull him closer. Because she’s _so_ ready for him. And she’s sure it has nothing to do with the fact that it’s been four years, but everything to do with the fact that it’s _him_ and she’s never felt like this before. 

He pauses when she locks her legs around him and can’t help but smile a little as he gets the message. He rests his weight on his arms as he slowly slides inside of her, closing his eyes tightly. “Lydia,” he groans out, resting his forehead against her chest and pressing a kiss to the top of her right breast. 

She gasps quietly at the feel of him inside of her. She knows there should be discomfort considering how long it’s been, but all she feels is _energy_ , a spark. It’s almost overwhelming how connected to him she feels right now, like a burst of _everything_ is rushing through her veins. 

“Jesus. _Stiles_ ,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around him and holding him to her as she rocks her hips up slightly against his.

He feels it too, the connection, the energy. The way their bodies come together like they were meant for each other, like they’ve been doing this for years. He rocks against her, shuddering when she meets him halfway with each thrust.

Lydia clings to him with everything she can, her arms wrapped around his back, one hand sliding into his hair. Her legs wrapped around his hips as she presses her feet down against his thighs, pulling him in as deep as possible, her back arching with every thrust as they move together. Her surroundings disappearing completely. All she can hear, see, smell and feel is _him_.

In the distance he hears a rumble of thunder and without warning he flips them so she’s atop him, their hips still moving in tandem as he meets her eyes, reaching up and wrapping his arms around her waist to help lift her as she moves. He presses his lips against her neck, shuddering involuntarily. “Lydia,” he whispers. 

She rocks her hips down against his, picking up the pace as she leans into his lips for a moment. A moan or a gasp breaking through her every other second. She knows she’s so close and she knows it’s fast but it’s almost overwhelming everything he’s making her feel. She shivers harder at the way he whispers her name, and pulls her neck away, turning her face and kissing him hard.

He kisses her back, sliding his hand between them and gently rubbing his fingers against her, wanting -- no. _Needing_ her for to take the dive off that precipice before he does and he’s very, very close. He can feel it in the way his gut tightens. He thrusts up into her a little harder. 

Between his touch, the angle she’s thrusting against him, and the fact that she can _feel_ how close he is, she can’t hold it back anymore. She pulls back some, bracing herself on her arms as she thrusts down just one more time, her back arching, her head falling back as she half moans, half screams his name as she shudders _hard_ , her muscles clinging to him, her entire body shaking at just how powerful everything feels.

And just like that, he’s gone, too, his grip tightening on her hips as she cries out his name like that, and he shudders, breathing heavily at the powerful wave of emotion that washes over him. He slowly releases her hips in order to wrap his arms around her, pulling her down so she’s lying on him, one hand buried in her hair as he shuts his eyes. “God, Lydia,” he murmurs. 

All she can do is lay over him, her legs are shaking, so are her arms. With a deep breath, she turns her face into his neck and presses her nose to his jaw as she wraps her arms under his shoulders, hugging him as well as she can. “You’re amazing,” she whispers quietly.

“Pretty sure that was -- mostly you. I’ve never -- like that. Ever.” Not that he’s had _that_ much experience. He really hasn’t. He doesn’t think twice about it before turning his head and kissing her temple, sliding a hand down her back. 

“Me either,” she admits quietly, shivering at his light touch and lifting her head to look at him again. Her expression open, more so than it’s been this entire time. 

He holds his breath at the look on her face, because he’s pretty sure his own is a mirror of the same emotions right now. “Then maybe it was _us_ ,” he says quietly. 

Her chest feels tight at his words. But she can’t bring herself to disagree with him. It is him, she knows it is. It’s always been him. The one person who can make her feel special and accepted and, well _adored_. She brushes her fingers against his cheek gently, then leans in and kisses him softly once more as she tries her best not to think about the fact that he’s _leaving_. 

He lifts his hand to cup her cheek, too, brushing his thumb over her lips before kissing her back. Outside the wind howls but he doesn’t notice it, doesn’t feel like it’s threatening. He doesn’t want to think about later, about what will happen after they’ve dealt with the witches. Right now it doesn’t matter. They have this moment and maybe it’ll be enough. 

Even as he thinks it, he feels a bitter twist inside of him. This could never be enough. Nothing will ever be enough when it comes to them.


	5. Chapter 5

She didn’t mean to fall asleep. And despite the blizzard outside, between his warmth, his arms around her, his fingers tracing patterns over her bare back, she relaxed. 

Lydia has no idea how long it’s been since she fell asleep, but as she slowly starts to wake up again, to feel the soreness in her legs, the way her entire body feels more relaxed than it has in a very long time and the soft body she’s pressed against makes her not want to open her eyes. She knows it’s real, but she also knows that just like in a dream, it will end far too soon. 

With a soft sigh, she presses closer to him, trying her best not to think about the conversation she had with Scott right before she left Beacon Hills...

***

_It’s already late at night and Lydia is sitting in her car, parked outside of the McCall’s. She stares inside for a long moment, the lights in the bedrooms are on, but everything else seems quiet. She looks at the Jeep parked up front, then down at the envelope in her hands and her eyes cloud up with tears again._

_With a deep breath, she finally picks up her phone and texts him._ Are you awake? __

 _Scott startles from a light sleep when his phone dings to signal a text message and he quickly looks over to where Stiles is curled up in the bed, faced away from him and not moving. He takes a deep breath, listening intently to his heartbeat and relaxing a little when he realizes his friend is asleep. Thank god. He glances down at the phone, eyebrows furrowing a little as he reads Lydia’s text and quickly responds with_ Yeah, what’s up? __

 _Part of her was hoping Scott wouldn’t respond. But of course he did. He’s Scott and -- after everything, of course he would._ I’m outside. Can you come out? Alone. __

_Scott rubs a hand over his face tiredly and pushes himself to his feet as quietly as he can before making his way out of the room and down the stairs to the front door. He steps out onto the porch barefoot, and then slowly makes his way down the walk toward where she’s sitting in her car. “Lydia? You okay?” His eyes are full of worry._

_“Come in,” she invites quietly, looking at Scott for a moment, then up at the house. Once he gets into the car with her, she takes a deep breath. “How is he?”_

_“Sleeping,” he answers just as quietly, looking down at his hands as he sits beside her in the passenger seat. “Mom gave him something to help him rest.”_

_Lydia takes a deep breath and nods slightly, then looks down at her lap and the envelope still in her hands. She doesn’t know how to tell him what she needs to tell him. She doesn’t know what to say, but she knows she doesn’t have much time. So she just closes her eyes and forces herself to get the words out. “I’m leaving, Scott.”_

_He turns his head to look at her, confusion clear on his face. “What?”_

_“I’m moving,” she says, her throat feeling as tight as her heart. “My mom -- she’s moving us.”_

_Scott stares at her with wide eyes, shaking his head. “Like -- now?” His voice cracks a little. “Right now?”_

_“We leave in the morning.” Lydia holds her breath and finally turns to look at him._

_He shuts his eyes, rubs his hands over his face, rendered silent by the shock. He doesn’t know what to say. What to do. “It’s -- because of what happened at Eichen. Isn’t it?” Because Lydia’s almost died one too many times and this is Ms. Martin’s last straw._

_“Because of everything that has been happening. But -- that was more than she could handle,” she confirms quietly, her stomach feeling tight. “And maybe it’s for the better.”_

_If he hadn’t already been shocked, that would have done it. He shakes his head as he looks at her again. “It isn’t.”_

_Lydia holds her breath at his words, then shakes her head back at Scott. “You don’t get it, Scott…”_

_He forces himself to take a deep breath. “What? What don’t I get?” He glances toward the house, where he can hear Stiles shifting in his sleep._

_She takes a deep breath and looks at him as he looks away. Scott has enough to deal with and there’s literally nothing he can do to help her. “It doesn’t matter,” she says quietly, eyes tearing up again as she lifts the envelope toward him. “Just -- can you give him this for me?”_

_“It matters to me,” he says quietly, even as he takes the envelope from her._

_“I think --” Lydia pauses and takes another deep breath. She can’t just throw the information at him, she knows him. He won’t accept it. He will say it’s different with her. “Before my grandmother got sick, got -- lost in trying to understand her predictions, she lost a lot of people, Scott. My grandfather. My aunt. My Grandmother’s wife. My dad moved away when his sister died. I researched Meredith and all of her closest family is gone, too.”_

_Scott watches her intently, listens as she speaks, not only to what she’s saying but what she isn’t. “You think they were responsible?” He frowns deeply, shaking his head. “Lydia, no.”_

_“No,” she says quietly, then takes a deep breath. “But, Deaton said he’s never seen a banshee in a pack before. And we don’t know how my powers work and -- Scott, look at how many people have died since Peter bit me. People_ close _to us. What if I’m the one attracting this? What if --” she sniffles quietly, her eyes tearing up again. “What if you’re next? Or Stiles? Or your mom, or Kira.”_

_“Okay, but at the beginning I didn’t know how my powers worked either,” he points out. “And all of those people who died --” He shakes his head again. “That hasn’t been you. It’s been because of outside forces we’ve had no control over. Peter. Jennifer. The alpha pack. The nogitsune. And -- Lydia, you’re on a hit list of supernaturals right now,” he whispers. “I can’t protect you if you’re not here.”_

_Lydia just shakes her head, brushing the tears from her face. “I don’t have a choice. And you -- protect_ him _. He’s gonna need you, Scott.” Her voice cracks and she swallows hard. “Now more than ever.”_

_“I could talk to your mom. We could tell her what’s happening,” he tries._

_“That will only make it worse. She doesn’t want to get it. It won’t change anything…”_

_Scott swallows heavily, trying to understand how this is happening on top of everyone else. “Lydia, I don’t...I don’t know what to do,” he whispers. “We need you._ He _needs you.”_

 _How could he possibly need her when it’s her fault he was there with her? When it’s her fault she didn’t pick up on what was going to happen? But she can’t say those things to Scott. He wouldn’t understand. So Lydia just sighs softly and shakes her head. “He needs_ you _, Scott. And your mom. You’re his family now.”_

_He knows without a doubt, that while that’s true, Stiles isn’t going to take this well. At all. “We’re staying in touch.” It isn’t a question. He gazes at her for a moment, then leans in and pulls her into a hug._

_Lydia closes her eyes and hugs him tightly. If her mother has a say in it, they’re not. And maybe she doesn’t want them to either. It’ll be safer for them._

***

Her eyes tear up despite her best efforts to suppress the memories and without realizing, she tightens her arms around Stiles. It’s been over three years and no one from the pack has _died_ since she left. If that doesn’t prove she was right then -- she doesn’t know what would. 

And that’s why he needs to leave. She needs to let him go. Otherwise, she’s just going to permanently lose him.

Stiles sighs in his sleep and turns his head a little, burying his face against her hair and mumbling her name almost inaudibly. 

Lydia sniffs quietly when he moves, shifting to wipe away her tears as she pulls herself up on one elbow, still pressing as close to him as possible. He looks more peaceful than she’s seen him in the last couple of days and part of her just wants to let him sleep but -- she knows they should go. They need to figure out everything they can about this coven before they find _them_. 

So she slowly shifts closer and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “Stiles.”

He mumbles again, keeping his eyes shut. “Five more minutes,” he responds sleepily. 

Her chest tightens and she can’t help the soft smile that appears on her lips as she brushes her nose against his skin. “We have to go,” she whispers quietly.

He sighs a little, tightening his arms around her and pressing a kiss against her head, only sort of awake. “Time is it?” 

“It’s dark out,” she says, closing her eyes for a moment before pulling up, away from him despite that being the last thing she actually wants to do.

He finally opens his eyes when she pulls away from him, watching her sleepily. He rubs at his eyes and sits up, drawing in a breath and letting it out slowly. He leans forward, pressing a kiss against her bare shoulder. He reaches out and grabs her bra, mouth twitching upward into a smile as he holds it out to her wordlessly. 

She knows she should just pull away from him. The second they walk out of this closet, this is done. It has to be. For his safety. But…between the sleepy look on his face, the smile on his lips, the way his hair is sticking up all over the place, she can’t bring herself to pull away. To hurt him. They’ll both be hurting enough as is when he leaves. So she allows herself to smile back at him, taking her bra before reaching to cup his cheek with her free hand and pressing her lips softly to his.

Stiles doesn’t hesitate to kiss her back, eyes drifting shut once more as he leans into her hand. “Round two back at your place,” he murmurs against her mouth. 

Lydia can’t help but smile against his lips. After a moment, she pulls back, eyes on him as she slides her bra back on. “I hate to be the one to say this, but we have work to do.”

He sighs, raking a hand through his very messy hair. “Right. Work.” He presses his lips together, keeping his eyes on her as she dresses. Reluctantly he picks up his boxers and rises to his feet, tugging them on. 

She finishes dressing and looks at him for a moment, then takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, focusing as she listens for any signs of the others, any signs of danger.

He gazes at her a moment before picking up the rest of his clothes, dressing quickly and quietly. He takes the opportunity to wrap up his sleeping bag, and grab the flashlight from the shelf. “Anything?” he asks quietly. 

“No, I think we’re safe,” she breathes out after a moment, turning to face him again.

He meets her eyes, nodding wordlessly as he slides his jacket back on and picks up the sleeping bag. “Maybe we should call a cab to be on the safe side.” 

“Yeah,” she agrees quietly, looking at him for a moment then reaching to open the closet door. “Let’s see if we can find one.”

Stiles nods in agreement and follows her out of the small room and then leads the way to the door. He can feel the shift in mood -- hers and his both. He’s tense once more, as he looks out the door, searching but not seeing anyone around. “Come on,” he murmurs, holding his hand out toward her. 

Lydia takes a deep breath and looks at him for a moment before wrapping her fingers around his as they head down the street, looking for a cab that she’s fairly sure they won’t find. Back to the real world. 

***

Stiles slams shut the book he’s been reading for the last five hours with no luck and sits back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes. He has a headache the size of Nebraska and he’s frustrated from lack of answers on how to stop this coven without _killing_ them -- which frankly _he_ has no problem with but Lydia seems to want to find another way. “Do you have any aspirin?” 

She looks up from her book and nods slightly, watching him as she moves to stand up. “You okay?” 

“Just a headache,” he tells her. He stands up, too, moving toward the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Lydia watches him then makes her way to the bathroom, coming back with the aspirin for him. “You’re probably dehydrated. Maybe you also need to eat something.” Because yes, they had -- a meal, whatever time that was. But they’ve been running around for days at this point. He should eat better.

He’s used to not eating much, a protein bar here, a bag of chips there. Probably too much coffee for a healthy balanced diet -- but when you’re broke and on the road, you do what you have to do and a lot of places still have free coffee. Or at least free coffee refills. “I think it’s just from staring at this book for so long.” 

She shakes her head at him a little, then makes her way to the fridge and pulls out a bag of baby carrots. “We can share these.” 

He grimaces. “Not a big fan of carrots, Lyds.” He pops the aspirin in his mouth and swallows them down quickly. 

“Eat some, Stiles. The sugar will help,” she assures him, watching him for a moment then resuming her place on the couch.

He sighs and reaches for the bag, grabbing a couple of the carrots, tossing one into his mouth and reaching for the next book. How did he use to do this for hours? “At least the power’s back on.” He leans back against the couch by her leg, leaning against her knee. 

Her stomach clenches when he leans close to her. She brushes her fingers through his hair for a second, then pulls her hand away and reaches to pick up her book. “Yeah. At least we’re warm.”

He closes his eyes when she combs her fingers through his hair and he exhales slowly, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders. Wordlessly he lifts his hand up with the other carrot to give to her as he starts reading once more. 

Lydia looks up when the book when she sees the movement, smiling softly as she reaches for the carrot. “Thank you,” she says quietly, taking a bite as she goes back to reading with a soft sigh.

He smiles a little even though she can’t see it and turns his head without thinking, pressing a kiss to her knee. “Welcome.” 

She lifts her hand to his hair again, looking at him for a moment as she mindlessly flips through the pages of her book. Her fingers still when she hears a thunder off in the distance, but somehow, the noise doesn’t feel like a threatening sound. After a moment, she looks back down at the book on her lap and cocks her head as she starts to read. “Stiles…”

“Yeah?” He pauses in his reading and glances at her over his shoulder, craning his neck to try and see her.

“You can cast spells, right?” she asks quietly, sitting up on the couch a little before leaning down, closer to him to show him the book she’s holding.

“Yeah. Did you find something?” He glances from her to the page in the book she’s reading. He cocks his head, studying the spell she’s found. A slow smile spreads across his face and for the first time in a long time, he can see another option.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
> Credits to our artist **[Oxcenia](http://oxcenia.tumblr.com/)** and our beta **[Summersanginme](http://summersanginme.tumblr.com/)**!

It’s nearly midnight when they make their way toward the park where his locator spell has directed them. He’s teetering on the edge of exhaustion, but he drank a lot of coffee and downed a couple of Adderall that he’d swiped from a pharmacy in Jersey. He glances at Lydia, then up at the treeline as the wind begins to pick up. “They’re starting,” he whispers, picking up the pace. 

She tightens her hand around his and nods, her heart beating fast as they approach the place where she can already see hooded figures. “There’s a broad tree to the right, I think it will give us enough room to hide behind.”

He follows her gaze and nods his agreement, walking with her quickly to the tree and ducking behind it. He yanks his bag off his arm, quietly unzipping it and unloading all the herbs and things he’d brought along. He pulls the book out, flipping to the spell, then meeting her eyes. Leaves sweep past them through the air and scatter across the ground. 

Lydia nods slightly, smiling a little as she reaches and squeezes his shoulder gently. She’s so relieved he agreed with this. That he agreed with the spell, that he believes he can do it, that he won’t have to _hurt_ anyone else for them to end this.

He holds his breath as he begins to read the spell, keeping his voice in an attempt to not let the witches know that they’re there just yet -- to give them an advantage however slight, considering there are thirteen of them gathered in a circle chanting. He can’t imagine that they can hear him between their own spell and the way the wind is whipping. 

With a deep breath, Lydia steps slightly closer to him. She can feel the warmth radiating from his body. She can feel his energy pulsing stronger with every word he whispers. But she can’t look at him. She needs to keep her eyes on the coven and make sure they’re unnoticed. 

As the chanting of the thirteen grows louder, she feels the familiar chill down her spine. She knows they don’t have much time. “Hurry,” she whispers quietly over her shoulder. And just as she does, she hears the sound of a twig cracking and stills completely.

He’s not even halfway through the spell when she whispers for him to hurry, and he tenses because he knows what that probably means. She’s picking up on trouble. _Great._ He feels the familiar, reassuring weight of the gun at the small of his back and his heart skips a beat as he feels something hot against his neck and he whips his head to look but sees nothing. They’re screwing with his mind. 

He grits his teeth, pausing in the spell momentarily, meeting Lydia’s eyes as he wavers. 

When he whips his head, she feels the movement so she looks down at him, holding his gaze when he looks at him. “Keep going,” she whispers, nodding at him as she places a hand on his shoulder.

The touch grounds him and he nods again, drawing in a breath and starting to read once more, wincing as debris flies through the air by his head and he struggles not to duck out of pure instinct. 

He continues reading when he feels it. Not just heat. They’re not messing with his head like he’d thought. They needed two more victims to complete the ritual. And he and Lydia are going to be those victims. The magic feels like static at first and he knows it’s about to shift, about to get worse, he can _sense_ the growing intensity, and there’s no way he’s going to finish the spell in time to stop what’s about to happen to them. 

It’s a split second decision that he knows even as he’s making that he won’t regret. He dives, throwing himself on top of Lydia just as the magic hits him full force like electrocution. He doesn’t scream; _can’t_ scream. His body is wracked with pain and hot tears sting his eyes, but all he can do is gasp from the impact. 

When he reaches is when she sees them. At least two more, coming at them through the woods. And she _does_ scream. She screams loudly, but barely has the chance to lift her arm to direct her scream as she and Stiles hit the ground hard. 

Lydia hits her back and head, but right now, she’s not feeling the pain. She’s wrapping her arms around him, trying to check on him. “Stiles!”

He doesn’t answer her because he can’t. Between the pain and the fact that it feels like they’re draining all of his own magic -- which isn’t nearly as powerful as theirs to begin with -- right out of his body, he’s pretty sure this is going to be his last tour of duty. 

“Get up!” she tells him, pushing him to the side as much as she can, her eyes tearing up as she can _feel_ what’s happening to him. She can feel his life getting weaker the same way she felt Allison’s slipping away through the wound in her stomach. The same way she felt Aiden’s slip away suddenly. 

“Stay with me.” Her eyes are tearing up and although she presses a kiss to his cheek, she needs to get up. The other two are approaching, her heart is racing and she needs to stop them.

He can’t see the other two because he can’t really move his head, but he _hears_ the footsteps approaching. “The book,” he whispers. “I have to finish it.” Because if he doesn’t, she’s going to die, too, and so are a lot of other people when the coven is even more super-powered than it already is.

Lydia doesn’t hesitate at all, she reaches for the book and presses it carefully in his hands. There’s so much she wants to say to him, to help him, to reassure him. But when a thunder claps loudly behind them just as she wraps his fingers around the book, she stills. And she _focuses_. 

A second later, she’s on her feet. This time, she doesn’t measure her powers. She takes a deep, shaky breath and when she screams, it feels like the world around them is shaking with it’s force. The two witches are knocked out instantly and maybe she went over the limit. Maybe she hurt the one who was walking ahead too much. But she can hear the other _thirteen_ ending their chanting. She needs to worry about them now.

Just holding the book hurts, and his hands tremble and for a moment his vision blurs. But then Lydia moves, and she’s _screaming_ and the pain lighting every nerve ending in his body on fire stops immediately and he shudders, closing his eyes and breathing for a moment before forcing himself to roll onto his side so that he’ll be able to sit up. He coughs, blood in his mouth and he grimaces at that realization. 

He doesn’t wait to contemplate what that means before gritting his teeth and starting to read the spell once more, louder this time, voice hoarse. “Liga potestas! Hoc carmen est!” 

When she hears the words, it’s like a surge of energy runs through her. Like something that was holding her back is no longer there. The group is coming toward them, some running, others walking and as she raises her hands again, thunders seem to be making the ground shake all around them just like her scream. 

With a deep breath, she screams again. More controlled this time, focusing on the people toward the front of the group. One, two, three of them hit the ground, but the others are still coming.

The wind is weakening, but the thunder rattles the ground and for a moment it takes his breath away. “Tenetur! Iam nocere tibi non tenentur; Numquam etiam pythonissam sentire vim!” He finishes the spell with a shudder, lifting his gaze to see Lydia illuminated by the sudden burst moonlight as the sky splits, the clouds dissipating as it’s freed. She looks magnificent, powerful. The wailing woman, he thinks tiredly, exhaling and closing his eyes as he lets his head drop to the grass. 

By the time she’s done knocking out the coven, her throat feels raw, but she’s never felt more powerful in her life. More focused. Like she’s finally completely in control of her abilities. 

But Lydia only takes a second before she turns back to Stiles. And she’s on her knees, by his side instantly. “Stiles?” When she realizes his eyes are closed, all of that power, that control seems to fade away. Seeing his eyes closed is enough to make her heart sink and her eyes tear up. 

“Stiles, talk to me. _Please_!” And she’s leaning down, reaching for him carefully not to hurt him.

He turns his head toward her a little, licking his lips. “That...didn’t go as planned.” He manages a faint, tired smile. “Guess some things don’t change.” 

Her heart skips a beat when he speaks, she reaches for him, cupping his face. “You need to get up. We need to go.”

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere, Lyds,” he murmurs, eyelids feeling heavy.

“ _Yes_ , you are. I’m not leaving you, Stiles.” Without warning, she shoves the book in his backpack, pulls it over her back, then hooks her hands under his arms. “And you _can’t_ leave me. Okay? I need your help.”

He barely manages not to cry out when she moves him. But he tries to focus on what she’s saying instead of the pain. “They’re bound.” 

“What?” she asks quietly, frowning at his words.

“The witches. The spell worked.” 

Lydia lets out a breath, nodding slightly as she tugs on his arms again and starts to pull him toward the exit. If he can’t stand this is the only other way. “They’re still alive. And human. And I don’t think they like us very much right now. So, we need to leave.”

“Stop,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “Just give me a minute.” 

She does stop when he asks, taking a deep breath and laying him on the snow again. Then she kneels beside him. “I’m sorry it hurts. But -- I can’t carry you, Stiles.”

“I know.” He shifts a little, wincing. He hasn’t been this exhausted in years. Since after the Nogitsune. He wills himself into motion now the same we he did then: because Lydia is in danger. He needs to get her out of here because she’s right. They might be a coven of bound witches who couldn’t use their powers now, but they were still human and pissed off. And he knows without suggesting it that she won’t leave him behind. Hell, the one time she _should_ have, she didn’t, and now there are no other loved ones lives on the line. It’s just the two of them. 

He reaches out for her, holding onto her arm and struggling to stand. 

She holds her arm out to him, wrapping her free one around his back as she moves to stand directly in front of him. “Lean on me as much as you need.” 

It isn’t the first time he’s done exactly that. He wraps his arm around her the way he had so long ago on a cold night in Beacon Hills. “Let’s go,” he says grimly. Because he’s not sure how long he’s going to be able to remain standing.

***

Her arms are shaking as she pushes his jacket off of him and helps him to her bed. “C’mon, just one more step.”

He’s freezing, but he manages not to collapse into a shivering pile on her bedroom floor, dropping instead onto her bed and immediately closing his eyes, breathing heavily. He’s honestly not sure how they’d made it all the way back to her apartment at all. 

Lydia pulls his shoes off and drops them on the floor. Then she pauses and takes a deep breath as she shifts closer to him. “I’m gonna take off your clothes, okay? You’re wet.” And sure, she’s done that once before, but -- this is a completely different situation.

“You just want to see me naked,” he mumbles without opening his eyes.

Her face softens into a smile and she doesn’t hesitate before unbuckling his belt this time. “Yeah, well, unfortunately I think you need some rest before your naked body can do me any good,” she teases quietly, but her voice is soft.

He manages a smile, too, but doesn’t move. It feels like he’s going to need to get a lot more than _some_ rest to come back from this one. Assuming he does. He can still taste blood in the back of his throat. It’s a taste he’s become all too familiar with over the years. “Probably.” 

She lifts his hips from the bed as she strips him off his jeans, reaching for the covers a moment later and wrapping them around his legs. “You’re freezing, is it too cold here for you?” 

“It’s the spell,” he admits. 

“The one you did?” she asks quietly, trying to push his shirt off of his shoulders without moving him too much. She may be a banshee, but the spells and magic portions of the supernatural are still very much new to her.

“Both of them. Theirs and mine.” Doing magic as a Druid is a lot different than doing magic as a witch. There’s a reason Jennifer Blake had to sacrifice people. A reason that she had to feed the Nemeton. The witches didn’t need to, but they’d wanted to be even more powerful. “Absolute power,” he mumbles.

“Can you sit up for a second?” she asks after fidgeting with his shirt. But it’s wet and it’s sticking to his skin. And she’s afraid that trying to force it off of him is going to hurt him more. 

He presses his hands against the mattress, forcing himself upwards with a wince. “Hurts,” he admits, mainly because he’s not far away from passing out. He can feel it coming on.

“It’s quick,” she promises, pulling his shirt carefully off, then peeling his undershirt off as well. Just as she tosses them to the flood, though, she stills, her stomach clenching as she sees that marks on his back. Angry, red bruises that look halfway between a burn and a rash all over his skin. “Stiles…”

He can see from the stricken expression on her face that his back looks as bad as it feels. “I know,” he tells her, trying for a smile. “I just need sleep.” He slowly eases himself back and down so his head is resting against the pillows. 

“Okay,” she whispers quietly, leaning down and pressing her lips gently to his forehead as she pulls the covers around him. She doesn’t like the way those things look at all. She hates that he’s in pain. And she hates it even more that she doesn’t know what to do about it, how to help him, how to fix this. 

He feels consciousness slipping away rapidly, vision starting to gray out even as she leans down to kiss his forehead. “I love you,” he whispers. And then the world goes dark.

Once again, she stills completely. It’s almost like the ground just vanished from under her considering the way her heart skips a beat and her stomach drops. She doesn’t have much of a choice but to sit down on the edge of the bed next to him. Lydia stares at him for a moment, his whispered words echoing in her head. 

She knows he’s out. And maybe it’s the pain. Maybe he’s hallucinating. He must be. After everything she’s done, after all he clearly blames her for, this -- isn’t real. Even if it feels real. Even if she wants it to be real. 

Her eyes tear up a little and she leans in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as she closes her eyes for a moment, then whispers back at him. “I love you, too.” 

And she means it, completely. She has felt more alive, more connected, more _whole_ in the past few days than she has since -- probably since the night they lost Allison. And she knows it’s thanks to him. Because no matter how much time has passed, part of them is obviously still tethered to one another. It’s the only explanation she’s been able to reach for how he makes her feel. 

But she also knows she could never tell him that while he’s awake. Because she already almost lost him tonight. And he’s been around her for less than a week. She _knows_ she needs to stick to her plan and that he has to leave. 

She also knows it’s going to destroy her. But she’d rather live with a broken heart than with the guilt of knowing he’s dead because of her. She doesn’t think she could live with that at all.


	7. Chapter 7

It’s been eighteen hours since she got him home. Eighteen hours since he passed out. And eighteen hours of checking if he’s breathing every half an hour or so. 

While she did curl up next to him for a few of those hours and actually managed to to get some rest, she’s also been doing her best to keep busy: she washed all of their clothes that were absolutely filthy from the previous night. Went next door both to grab some groceries and get him some more comfortable clothes like sweats that he can wear while he recovers and still stay warm. She also made them vegetable soup. 

But as it starts to get dark again outside, she’s feeling restless. She makes her way into the bedroom with a glass of water and sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching out and touching his face gently. “Stiles?” 

He flinches a little when someone touches his face and he grimaces as he stirs from his sleep but doesn’t open his eyes. His entire body hurts, feels too heavy to move. His mouth is dry, like he’s had an old sock stuffed in it, and his back burns like someone lit him on fire. A groan escapes him involuntarily, but he’s not sure he really made any noise at all. 

“Shh,” she whispers when he groans, brushing her fingers over his cheek gently before reaching for the glass of water and pressing a straw to his lips. “Can you drink?”

He exhales and then reluctantly takes a sip, struggling to open his eyes. “What time is it?” 

“Just past five. In the afternoon,” she says quietly, keeping her eyes on his face. “You need to drink more, you’re dehydrated.” 

He’s not surprised to hear that from how dry his mouth is and the way he’s soaked in sweat. He presses his hands against the mattress and tries to sit up, grimacing as pain shoots down his back. Awesome. “On second thought unconsciousness is good,” he mumbles. 

She winces when he grimaces and although she reaches out to help him, she doesn’t touch him. Just in case she makes it worse. “I’ll let you go back to sleep soon, okay? But I need you to drink and eat something first.”

His stomach turns at the thought of food, but he forces himself to sit up a little more, up against the headboard, leaning back. “Maybe we can just stick with tea for now.” 

“It’s just vegetable soup. I can give you just broth if you want,” she suggests quietly, holding the water glass out to him once more.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, taking the glass of water with a shaky hand. He takes another sip, rubbing his free hand over his eyes. “How long was I out?” 

“About eighteen hours,” she says quietly. More like eighteen hours and seven minutes. But he doesn’t need to know how freaked out she is. “Is the pain any better?”

He grimaces a little. “Yeah, I guess so.” He doesn’t really remember the last eighteen hours for comparison, really.

“I’m gonna go grab you some food, okay? Keep yourself awake.” Otherwise, she’s just going to have to wake him up again and she doesn’t want to put him through that.

“Okay.” He yawns, eyes drooping as she heads toward the door. He forces himself to keep them open though, taking a drink of the water and glancing around, realizing he hadn’t paid attention to anything when he’d first collapsed in her bed. His clothes are folded in a neat pile on a chair in the corner, and an oversized Columbia sweatshirt is draped over the back of it. That gives him pause -- at least momentarily. Of course she’s going to college. She _should_ be.

She makes her way back quickly with a bowl of soup in her hands. It’s still pretty warm so she knows it will be okay for him to eat. She realizes he’s looking at the clothes and smiles a little. “If you’re cold, I can grab them for you. They’re clean.”

“I’m okay. Thanks.” His voice is quiet, eyes lingering momentarily on the sweatshirt. “Columbia, huh?” 

“Oh.” She glances at the sweatshirt, too, then back at him as she sits next to him and carefully trades his water glass for the bowl of soup. “Yeah. Almost done, actually.” 

“Impressive,” he says softly, cradling the bowl in his hands. “Not surprising, but still impressive.” 

“Thanks,” she says quietly with a small smile. Until now, they hadn’t really said much about their lives since she left, but she figures it’s a good way to distract him from his pain. “What about you?”

“What about me?” His eyebrows furrow a little and he glances up to meet her eyes.

“Did you -- start school anywhere?” She doesn’t think he’s in school now, but Stiles has so much potential, he’s so smart. It’d be a shame if he decided not to go.

A short chuckle escapes him and he immediately regrets it, wincing and tightening his hold on the bowl. “I didn’t even finish high school, Lyds.” 

“Why not?” she asks with a frown as she reaches to help him secure the bowl.

“I ended up leaving before I graduated.” He shrugs a little. 

Lydia nods slightly, hesitating as she looks at him. She wants to ask him _why_ he left. She never got a clear answer from Scott and honestly, she didn’t ask much. But she doesn’t feel like it’s her place to ask, considering she left too. “You should eat while it’s still warm.”

He nods wordlessly, letting his gaze drop to the soup. He stirs it with the spoon for a moment before glancing at her once more. “You didn’t ask.” 

She holds her breath at his words and looks up at him again, holding his gaze. They have been actually getting along in the past couple of days. Their relationship feels more like what they used to be than it had in the days before that. Before -- she jumped him in that closet. And the last thing she wants is to have him hurting and upset with her for whatever little time they have left together. But _because_ she feels this close to him again, she can’t bring herself to lie. To put on a mask. To pretend she doesn’t feel guilty. She cares about him too much. “I didn’t feel like I had the right to ask.” 

Stiles presses his lips together at that admission and looks down. “Yeah but...things are different now,” he says quietly. 

“What do you mean?” she asks, a little surprised. Because, yes, things are better for now but -- it doesn’t mean they’re going to stay that way. This way. 

“Aren’t they?” He cocks his head, gazing at her intently. 

She holds his gaze for a moment, she can’t help but remember his words from right before he fell asleep. Her face suddenly feels warm and her eyes tear up a little as she nods but looks away from him. “I guess but -- I don’t know what different is.” 

He holds his breath when he sees her eyes fill with tears before she looks away. He carefully sets the bowl down on the nightstand and reaches for her hand. 

Lydia wraps her fingers around his as soon as he reaches for her, but takes a moment before looking up at him. “You know you can’t stay…” she whispers, eyes tearing up more.

Stiles grows still at that, then drops his gaze. Right. In a day or two, they have to go back to their normal lives -- if dealing with the supernatural could be considered normal on any level. And their normal doesn’t include the other. “Yeah.” His voice is hushed. He squeezes her hand gently before pulling away once more.

She’s not expecting the _loss_ she feels when he pulls his hand away. It almost feels like he’s already leaving, he’s already gone. Part of her wants to reassure him, to remind him _why_ he can’t stay. But she knows she doesn’t have to. He almost died two nights ago, after being around her less than a week. 

With a deep, shaky breath, she gets up from the bed and wraps her arms around herself. Putting some distance between them is the last thing she _wants_ to do, but she needs to start getting used to it again. “So why did you?” she asks finally.

He feels himself shutting down as she pulls away, wrapping her arms around herself protectively like she’s afraid he might hurt her. It reminds him of the way Scott had flinched away from him the night before he left Beacon Hills for good. His voice is closer to neutral when he answers her this time. “Scott wanted me gone because I killed someone. So I left.” It’s a very, very condensed version of what happened, but that’s it in a nutshell. 

She sniffs a little, not missing the way his tone changes. It makes something inside of her grow cold, but she focuses on what he said. Because it’s wrong. Cocking her head, she shakes her head slightly. “Scott didn’t want you gone. He was worried sick, trying to find you.”

Stiles starts to respond but then he freezes, staring at her. “You talked to him?” 

“He emailed me,” she explains, looking away. “But he didn’t tell me much.”

He feels a bitter taste in the back of his mouth at that and he looks away, too. “He wanted me gone. He may have said he didn’t, but he did. It was pretty clear the last time I saw him.” _”We don’t_ kill _people! Do you get that?”_

“I wasn’t there.” And she feels like the words are enough to make him angrier at her. But it is the truth. “I don’t know what changed. But he seemed worried.” And she can’t imagine Scott _not_ wanting Stiles there with him.

No, she wasn’t. But he isn’t angry. He’s tired. He shrugs at that. “Even if I’d stayed, it wouldn’t have been the same. It wouldn’t have worked.” 

“Have you talked to him at all since?” she asks quietly, mostly worried about the two of them at this point. Stiles and Scott without each other isn’t something she can comprehend.

“No.” He sets the bowl of food aside and shifts a little, trying to get more comfortable. He hasn’t reached out to Scott because he can’t. He can’t go back to Beacon Hills, and he can’t change the things that he’s done. “I’m not the same person I used to be.” And Scott wouldn’t want him there the way he is now. The way he’s been for years now.

“You’re not. And neither am I,” she points out, taking a step closer to the bed even though she doesn’t sit back down again. “But we still managed.” To talk. To reconnect. To be what they were together then, even if briefly. 

“It’s not the same,” he responds, not looking at her. 

“I know,” she says quietly, looking down as she sighs softly. “But I’m still glad I got to see you.”

“He wouldn’t be,” Stiles tells her, voice full of certainty. He meets her eyes for a moment. “Maybe initially, but after that, he’d be glad I took off in the first place.” 

Lydia really doesn’t think so, but right now, she’s not the one to argue. Again, she wasn’t there. Instead, she steps forward and picks up the bowl. “Do you want anything else?”

“No. I’m good. Thanks for the soup,” he answers, pressing his lips together.

With a slight nod, she purses her lips together and focuses on him again. “You should rest some more.” 

“Yeah, probably.” His voice grows more quiet. “You should too. If you haven’t.” 

“I will,” she promises quietly, looking at him for a moment. “Do you need anything?”

He does, but he shakes his head because there’s no sense in wanting something you can’t have. He learned that a long time ago, even if he’s now being reacquainted with it. “I’m alright.” 

The look on his face alone is enough to make her stomach feel tight. But she doesn’t push him. Again, she doesn’t feel like she has the right to. So instead, she takes a deep breath, nods and quietly makes her way out of the room. 

Most of her wants to break down and cry because of the tremendous _loss_ she’s already feeling. But she knows she will have plenty of time to do that later, when she’s alone again.

***

_He’s holding the letter in his hand, but the expression on his face is blank as he stares at Scott. “She just left?”_

_“She didn’t have a choice,” Scott assures him. “Her mom said they had to leave.”_

_Stiles just looks at him wordlessly at that, eyes red-rimmed and tired from the last twenty-four hours._

_Scott sighs quietly, then reaches out and presses his hand to Stiles’ shoulder. “We can try calling her later?”_

_“Yeah.” His voice is dull and he sinks down onto the edge of Scott’s bed. “I think I’m just...gonna go back to sleep.”_

_Scott fidgets a little, watching Stiles worriedly, but nods as he tries to offer him a smile. “My mom will be home with dinner soon. I’ll wake you when she gets here.”_

_“I’m not really hungry, Scott,” he says quietly. The thought of food makes him want to throw up, actually. “Thanks anyway.” He crawls under the covers once more, pulling the blankets up to his chin, and after a moment, turning away so he’s facing the far wall._

_At first Scott starts to leave the room, then hesitates and makes his way back to his armchair. He picks up a book but keeps his eyes on his best friend instead._

_Stiles hears him sit back down, but he doesn’t say anything. He closes his eyes against the tears that form and he presses his hand against his mouth tightly as he starts to cry. As he starts to drift off to sleep, his last thought is that he hopes he doesn’t wake up again._

After the way they shut each other out, Lydia didn’t feel comfortable joining Stiles on her bed again. So she pulled her couch a little closer to the bedroom door, curled up with a blanket and settled down for the night. About two hours ago. 

She hasn’t been able to get any sleep. Every time Stiles makes the slightest of noises, she lifts her head to look at him and make sure he’s okay. When she hears a small gasp, she sits up completely. 

Just as she steps into her room, she hears a sob and she can _see_ his body shaking. 

“Stiles?” Although there’s uncertainty in her voice, Lydia doesn’t hesitate before making her way over to the bed and reaching to touch his shoulder. “Stiles, can you hear me?”

He shivers in his sleep, a whimper escaping him as he presses his hand to his mouth a little more, clutching onto the blankets more tightly. 

His skin feels way too hot to the touch and she instinctively reaches for his forehead. “Jesus, Stiles,” Lydia mutters under her breath. He’s burning up. She disappears into her bathroom and comes back with a damp cloth and some Tylenol. She has no idea what kind of medicine she needs to give him for a fever caused by _magic_ , but his body is still human so hopefully this will do. 

“Stiles. Hey, listen to me,” she mutters as she presses the cloth to the back of his neck gently. “You need to wake up.”

He groans in protest, trying to pull away from the cold cloth and shuddering. “Freezing,” he mumbles. 

“I know, you’re burning up,” she whispers, pressing her other hand to his forehead to hold him in place. She tries her best to ignore the suddenly familiar _spark_ that just touching him sends through her. She needs to focus on helping him feel better. 

“You’ll need to sit up to take this, Stiles.”

He starts awake at the touch to his forehead and his breathing is uneven when he opens his eyes, glassy and glazed over. “I don’t want anything,” he answers tiredly. “Just sleep.” 

Lydia pulls her hand away reflexively, holding her breath at his reaction. “It won’t hurt to take it. You’ll feel better.” He hasn’t been feeding himself properly and considering they were both stuck in the freezing weather for longer than she’d have liked, chances are, he’s human-sick too.

“Requires movement,” he mumbles, closing his eyes again and tugging the blankets up farther to his chin. 

“C’mon,” she whispers, picking up a pill and bringing it to his lips, then reaching for the glass of water. “Just use the straw.”

His lips part and he presses a kiss against her fingertip almost unconsciously before accepting the pill and taking a sip of the water. He doesn’t get sick -- hardly ever. He’s always had a strong immune system, but he’s pretty sure even the strongest of immune systems won’t stand up against magic. 

She can’t help the light shiver that the sensation of having his warm lips against her skin causes. She _is_ proud of herself for holding still and allowing him to take the pill, however. Once she sets the glass down, she reaches to touch his forehead again. “Do you want more blankets?”

“Yeah.” His teeth chatter and he burrows beneath the covers even more. 

With a nod, she picks up a couple more from her closet, the proceeds to unfold them and drape them over him. Including a thick comforter that should, hopefully help. “You’ll get warmer soon.”

“You keep saying that,” he responds, eyes squeezed shut tightly. “We don’t know that.” 

Lydia pauses, cocking her head in confusion as she gently presses her hand over his arm. “I know that. You’ll get better, Stiles.”

He makes a quiet noise but doesn’t respond otherwise, shivering beneath the blankets. He survived the Nogitsune, but he’s not sure he’s going to survive the aftermath of this spell after all. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers at the quiet noise and, despite herself, sits back down on the edge of the bed. “You’ll be okay.”

“Hurts,” he whispers. 

“I’m sorry,” Lydia whispers back, her chest tightening. She wishes she had Scott’s powers now, so she could at least take away some of his pain. With a soft sigh, she leans down and presses her lips to his forehead. She shouldn’t. They’re already hurting each other. But he’s in _pain_ and she wants to take it away somehow. Not cause more by pulling away again.

He relaxes a little when she kisses his forehead and he licks his dry lips. “Stay?” he murmurs. “Just til I fall asleep again.” 

She holds her breath at that, swallows hard and repeats to herself that she shouldn’t cause _him_ anymore pain. So although he won’t see it, she nods. “Yeah.” 

And despite her best judgement, she gets up, makes her way around the bed and slides in with him. She doesn’t want to disturb him too much so she just gently presses a hand over his shoulder as she lays behind him, keeping some distance. “I’m right here.”

He murmurs a soft, almost inaudible thanks as he lets himself relax a little more, the extra blankets helping take the chill off just a little. Enough that within a few moments, he’s drifted back to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he wakes up, he feels warm and safe and comfortable. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a very long time. He’s so used to crashing in uninhabitable, convenient and free locations -- comfort is rarely a thought in his head. Now his first thought as he sighs softly and slowly opens his eyes, is that he could get used to this. 

It takes him a moment to realize that he’s curled around Lydia, arm draped around her stomach, leg resting over hers, face buried against the back of her neck. He’s mildly confused at the situation, but he can’t stop himself from dropping a kiss against her shoulder, and can’t think of a reason _why_ he shouldn’t. 

Even as she shivers when he kisses her shoulder, she doesn’t quite wake up yet. She feels warm and safe and comfortable so instead of wanting to wake up, she snuggles back against him and sighs contently as she relaxes again.

He hums softly in the back of his throat when she snuggles back against him and he tightens his arm around her, nuzzling into the back of her neck.

“Sti-les,” she mumbles quietly, under her breath as she turns a little more into him, lifting her hand to cover his as she entwines their fingers. It’s just a dream, she knows that. But she really doesn’t want to wake up.

“Hi,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against her neck and closing his eyes, flexing his fingers around hers. 

Lydia pulls his hand up to her lips and presses a kiss against his palm, a soft smile appearing on her lips. “Hi,” she whispers, feeling a little more awake. But somehow, this still feels real.

“Sleep good?” He presses a kiss to the back of her head next. 

“Yeah,” she shifts in his arms, turning slowly toward him. He’s sick. He’s hurt. This is all in her head. “You?”

“Good,” he tells her with a faint smile, eyes still sleepy.

With a soft smile, she leans closer again once she’s facing him and brushes her lips to his. “Missed you,” she whispers as she closes her eyes and relaxes once again. She hasn’t been sleeping well. But now he’s here and it’s okay for her to relax.

“Me too. So much, Lyds,” he murmurs, closing his eyes, too and kissing her softly. “Every day. Like a part of me was missing.” 

Her chest tightens and it’s an emotion so _real_ and so raw that when she wraps her arm around his back tightly, she’s a little more aware of what she’s doing. “Not anymore,” she says quietly, opening her eyes again.

He smiles a little, shifting and resting his forehead against hers. “No, not anymore,” he murmurs. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel empty. Alone. 

Lost.

She brushes her nose to his, closing her eyes again as she takes a deep breath. 

“Is this real?” she asks, mostly to herself. But she _hopes_ he’ll actually answer her. Tell her yes. Because she wants him to be better, even if better means she might not be able to have him there much longer.

He’s quiet for a moment, but he lifts his hand up as he opens his eyes, counting his fingers. “I think so.” Unless he died. Which he supposes isn’t out of the realm of possibilities. 

Lydia takes a deep breath and blinks her eyes open again. When she realizes what he’s doing, her stomach clenches. She immediately thinks of the sickly looking Stiles that the Nogitsune left behind. Remembers feeling his near death on more than one occasion that week. Remembers trying to focus and concentrate to understand what she was feeling when he was passed out on the school corridor. 

She reaches for his hand and wraps her fingers around it, pulling it to her lips and kissing the back of it softly. She shouldn’t. She knows that. But he’s as confused as she feels from the looks of it and even if it’s a bad decision, she wants to comfort him if she can.

“It’s not gonna last though.” His voice is very quiet and he lets his eyes close again. “Is it?”

“I want it to,” she whispers against his hand, closing her eyes too when she starts to tear up again. She doesn’t want him to shut her out like that again. “But…” she can’t ask him to be okay with what she needs to do. He never was before. She knows a few days of being together again won’t change things. No matter how hard she wishes it would.

He draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. “But we’re not the same people we were three years ago.” 

“But you have been here for less than a week, and I already almost lost you once,” she adds in a whisper as she lifts her gaze to look at him again, despite knowing she won’t be able to hold back the tears much longer.

His eyebrows furrow a little at that and he finally opens his eyes to look at her. He shakes his head, propping himself up on one elbow as he gazes at her. “What does that have to do with anything?” There’s confusion in his voice.

Lydia’s eyes widen when he props himself up and she reaches for him, half expecting him to plop back down on the mattress in pain. “You’re hurt, what are you doing?”

“I feel okay,” he tells her, studying her, searching her eyes. 

She holds his gaze for a moment, watching him closely before she sits up slowly, reaching to pull the covers down slightly so she can look at his back. “It’s gone…” she whispers as she looks at him again. All the marks, bruises, whatever they were. They all seem to be gone.

Stiles holds his breath for a moment when she tugs the blankets down over his naked torso. He says nothing, just waits. 

“How is it gone?” she whispers, shaking her head. With a quick glance at the clock, she frowns more. “That was just eight hours ago. You were trembling with a fever.”

He shakes his head uncertainly. “I was?” 

“You don’t remember.” It’s not a question. Of course he doesn’t. He must have been hallucinating thanks to the fever. He surely doesn’t remember asking her to stay with him either. 

“I guess not,” he answers anyway, dropping back down to rest against the pillows once more. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” she asks carefully. Not entirely sure where they stand now. If they’re back to distant or if he still wants her to be close to him. She’s not sure what she wants, either. Actually, she knows what she _wants_ , but it doesn’t mean it’s the best choice. She knows it isn’t.

He doesn’t think before reaching out and gently tucking some hair behind her ear. “I feel fine,” he says quietly. “Like nothing even happened.” Which is weird, because he know that spells of that nature usually take a lot longer to recover from. 

As she leans into his touch, she holds her breath. Then the slightest hint of a smile appears on her lips. “I’m glad you feel better.”

He nods slightly, tiniest smile on his face, too. He hesitates a second, then leans in and presses a kiss against her forehead, his lips lingering momentarily.

Lydia closes her eyes and wraps her arm around him as she leans down against the pillow once more. If he’s okay with her being there, then she’s okay with being with him too.  
He shifts closer, sliding his arm around her waist and letting his fingers rub gently along the small of her back, letting his eyes drift shut. “Tell me about Columbia,” he murmurs.

She tries to suppress the shiver that his light touch against her back causes, but she can’t because there is that spark again. She needs to not focus on it, however, so she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, too. “I’m about to graduate. Mathematics. I’m doing a few hours as TA, too. Luckily they closed the school for a few days because of the blackouts and the snow.”

He smiles softly at that, nodding against her head slightly and letting his hand slide a little higher up on her back. “Before long you’ll have that Field’s Medal,” he whispers. 

And now his words make her stomach flutter. She smiles softly and presses her face against his, brushing her lips against his shoulder as she does. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I’m pretty sure I remember most things that involved you,” he admits, shivering a little involuntarily when she kisses his bare skin. 

Her face falls at his words, but she just hugs him closer before taking a deep breath. “My turn: tell me about your tattoo?”

Stiles grows still for a moment, tensing ever so slightly before relaxing again, letting his guard down. “I guess I just needed the reminder,” he says quietly. 

Lydia lifts her hand to his shoulder blade, brushing her fingertips over the area where she saw the tattoo the previous night: celtic symbols surrounding a fox that looks trapped. The meaning is pretty clear to her, considering everything he went through with the nogitsune. “It suits you. What about the scar?”

Sometimes he forgets the scar. Forgets because he doesn’t spend a lot of time looking at himself in the mirror. Because he’d rather not remember. “Wendigo,” he tells her after a long moment. 

She pulls her head back at his long pause. Just enough so she can look up at him. “I’ve never seen one but -- aren’t they cannibals?”

“Basically.” He exhales slowly, reluctantly meeting her eyes. “He was the one. Back in Beacon Hills.” The reason it all fell apart. 

“Oh.” She searches his eyes, worry reflecting on her own as she moves her hand from his shoulder to cup his face. “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

He leans into her touch, closing his eyes momentarily. “He attacked me in the library. There was this -- scaffolding. Because they were remodeling.” He presses his lips together. “So I climbed up it to try and get away. He followed me, but -- we struggled. I pulled this pin out.” His expression is far away now. “And he fell. This metal beam just -- went right through him. He died in a couple of minutes.” 

Lydia brushes her fingers against his jawline gently as she listens to him, cocking her head a little at his final words. “That doesn’t sound like it was your fault, Stiles.”

“Scott saw things a little differently.” He shrugs, not meeting her gaze this time. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers quietly, keeping her eyes on him. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to leave.”

“It is what it is,” he says just as quietly. “What’s done is done.” And it can’t be undone. He knows that better than anyone. 

She leans close and kisses his cheek gently, closing her eyes as she lets her lips linger against his skin for a moment. Then murmurs quietly. “I know.”

He lifts a hand to her cheek, too, slowly turning his head and pressing his lips against hers softly. 

Her heart skips a beat, but she kisses him back immediately. Softly, but she shifts a little closer to him. Because she _wishes_ he could stay. That they could have this. This comfort that they bring each other. This _connection_. But she knows it isn’t safe.

He slides his hand into her hair, slowly deepening the kiss and rolling her onto her back, moving so he’s above her, gazing down into her eyes when he breaks the kiss. After a moment, he slowly lowers his head and presses his lips against her neck, tongue darting out to taste her skin. 

This time, the shiver that runs through her is much stronger. Partially because she doesn’t even try to suppress it as she wraps her arms around him, running her fingertips over his back slowly as she lifts her head to allow him better access. 

He groans softly at the shiver that runs through her. “I’m taking my time this time,” he informs her. “Fair warning.” 

“I’m not complaining,” she says quietly, smiling when he groans. She slides her fingers into his hair and pulls him closer, kissing him deeply this time. 

“Glad to hear it,” he murmurs against her mouth. Because he fully intends on making sure neither of them ever forget today. 

***

It’s a couple of hours later and Lydia is fairly sure she’s never felt this blissful before. And not just because of the amazing, mind-blowing orgasm _s_ from earlier. But because everything is _perfect_. 

She’s laying her head over his chest and in the past five minutes or so, she’s been able to hear his heart rate slowing down. She feels warm and safe like she did that night in the gas station, but now she’s comfortable too. With a soft smile, she presses her lips to his chest, kissing the area just above his heart softly. 

“Was it always like this?” she whispers quietly, looking up at his face with a smile still on her lips. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, cocking his head to look at her, fingers stroking down her back absently. 

“I feel…” Lydia pauses, pursing her lips together for a moment. “I don’t know how to explain it. I feel really close to you.” And she knows how it sounds. Clingy after sex. But she knows Stiles knows her better than to think that’s what she means.

He’s quiet for a moment, watching her. “Yeah. I feel it, too.” His voice is quiet. He knows what it is, but he’s reluctant to say it because it’s too long ago. Too far away. “It’s -- the tether.”

Something inside of her tenses when he says it’s the tether. She tightens her arm around him as she pulls up a little so she’s half laying over his chest. “You mean from the ritual?”

“Yes,” he answers, dropping his gaze for a moment. “I’ve done some research the last couple years.” Which he’s sure isn’t a surprise. 

“What did you find?” she whispers, lifting a hand to brush her fingers over his hair as she watches him closely. She hasn’t really thought about that ritual in years.

He draws in a breath. “There’s a lot of mythology behind it. Sorting fact from fiction is...difficult.” Especially when she wasn’t around when he was reading and studying it. “But the closer someone gets physically to a person they’re tethered to...the more intense things tend to feel.” Tend to _be._

“That’s why it didn’t feel like this before,” she adds quietly. It makes sense. They’ve just intensified their connection by what feels like a million. “I didn’t even think it would continue after the ritual,” she admits quietly. 

“It only did because…” He lifts his gaze to look at her. “You’re a banshee. And I’m a Druid.” 

“But you weren’t a druid back then,” she says quietly, cocking her head in confusion. As far as she knows, this is something he studied over the years, after she left Beacon Hills. “Or -- is the spark something you’re born with too?”

His lips quirk upwards momentarily before relaxing once more. “Deaton figured it out long before I did,” he admits. 

She smiles softly when she feels him relaxing. “You’re amazing at it.” 

“I’ve got a long way to go,” he tells her. 

“I don’t think we ever stop learning.” She never _wants_ to stop learning, at least. But she’s been like this about every aspect of her life. “Doesn’t mean you’re not good now. I mean, you did save the entirety of New York from an evil coven.” 

A short chuckle escapes him at that. “Yeah, well, if it wasn’t for you I’d actually be dead and said coven would have taken over the city.” 

“I could say that if it wasn’t for you, I’d still be out there scream-stunning them while trying not to get myself killed, because that’d be true,” she points out, smirking a little. “But the truth is, we worked well together.” They always have.

He feels something inside of him twist in an almost painful way as he holds his breath, meeting her eyes. “Yeah, we did,” he murmurs.

Lydia holds his gaze and tries for a smile as she feels something shifting in his mood. At least, she’s fairly sure she’s picking up on something. And she knows why. She knows they probably won’t get to work together again. At least, not anytime soon. But she doesn’t want to think about that now. She doesn’t want to think about him leaving and feeling like she’s missing a part of herself again. So she just leans closer and presses her lips softly to his.

His eyes drift shut and he lifts a hand to her hair as he kisses her back. After a moment, he slides his hand back down her arm, gently cupping her elbow and brushing his thumb over a long white scar. “What happened here?” he asks. 

She glances down at her arm and purses her lips together. “It was about -- three years ago. Right after I moved to this apartment,” she comments, mostly to buy herself time so she can figure out the best way to tell him. Not that there really is one. “It was my first real fugue state here. I got hit by a car because I had no idea I was crossing the street. I really only broke my arm, though.” 

Stiles stares at her with wide eyes. “You got hit by a _car?!_ ” 

Lydia can’t help but smile a little at his reaction. “I’m okay now. And between Meredith and my grandmother’s books, I finally figured out how to be aware when fugue states happen. Even if I also still have a long way to go.”

“Wait, Meredith?” He shakes his head a little, confused. 

“She’s still at Eichen,” she explains quietly, looking down. “After the accident, I called her and she started helping me. We still talk every other week or so.”

Stiles opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again, not sure how to respond to that. He exhales slowly, considering. “Makes sense,” he says softly, leaning in and pressing a kiss against the top of her head.

She closes her eyes as she hugs him close, the familiar guilt making her stomach twist into knots once again. “I’m sorry I stopped replying,” she whispers very quietly. At this point, he already knows she still talks to Scott on occasion. And now he knows about Meredith, too. 

“Don’t be,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers up and down her back as he closes his eyes. “I get it.” 

“Do you?” she asks, pressing her nose against his jaw as she hides her face against his neck. She’s not sure she’d have been this forgiving if their roles were reversed.

“You needed a clean break.” He knows leaving initially hadn’t been her choice. It isn’t like she could have refused to leave with her mom. And some part of him even gets why she stayed away. 

“I never planned for one. She changed my number, but I had yours and Scott’s memorized. Even if I never planned on going back, I planned on talking to you.” Lydia takes a deep breath and shakes her head slightly as she props herself up again to look at him. “But every time I got an email from you, all I wanted to do was hop on the next plane back to California.” 

She looks away. “I knew you were hurting. I wanted to be there for you. But I knew I couldn’t.”

He swallows heavily, his chest tightening in that all too familiar way. “It’s not your fault.” He rubs at his chest absently. 

Lydia sighs softly and lays back down on his chest, wrapping her fingers around his hand and closing her eyes. She knows it isn’t. It isn’t a choice she wanted to make, either. But it was the one she had to make. Has to keep making. “I’m just glad you’re okay now.”

He strokes her hair, keeping his other arm firmly wrapped around her. “Thanks for looking after me,” he tells her. 

“Thanks for letting me,” she says sincerely, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw.

He starts to say something but hears a faint noise in the other room. He tenses, but then sits up quickly, his arms still around her. “Don’t move,” he whispers against her ear. He lets her go, climbing out of bed and grabbing his boxers up off the floor, tugging them on and reaching for his gun on the nightstand. 

Lydia hears him, but doesn’t listen. As soon as he’s on his feet, she is, too. Grabbing a robe from the coat hanger in the corner of her room, sliding it on then tiptoeing toward Stiles.

Of course she doesn’t listen. He gives her a look before reaching for the door handle and making sure she’s behind him before tugging it open and taking aim…

At Scott McCall.


	9. Chapter 9

Scott is standing there, in the middle of the living room, his eyes wide as he takes in the place that _obviously_ isn’t abandoned and where Stiles _is_ , but clearly not just _hiding_ like he’d assumed.

He’s still holding the knob that he broke on his way in as he lifts his hands in the air just before Lydia shows up behind Stiles. 

“It’s me.”

Stiles stares at Scott for a long moment, heart beating quickly against his chest as he slowly lowers the weapon he’s pointed at his old friend. “You nearly got shot,” he says pointlessly.

“Is that my door knob?” Lydia asks as she firmly ties her robe before stepping forward. 

Scott looks from Stiles to Lydia a couple of times in confusion before focusing on her. “I -- you weren’t answering my emails, I thought -- I didn’t know what to expect here. I didn’t know you’d be here, too.” 

It takes him a second, but only a second. Stiles slides his gaze from Scott’s face to Lydia’s as realization dawns on him and his jaw tightens, betrayal blooming in his chest. “You told him where I was.” His tone is flat. 

“He was worried sick about you, Stiles. And -- I may not know everything that happened between the two of you, but regardless of what it was, you two need to talk,” she says, her chest tightening when she sees the look on his face.

“I’ve been trying to find you since you left, Stiles,” Scott adds quietly.

“I didn’t want to be found,” he responds evenly, sliding the safety back into position on his gun as he backs up into the bedroom, scanning the room for his shirt. 

Lydia glances back at Stiles as he walks further into the bedroom, then takes a deep breath and looks at Scott again, nodding for him to follow Stiles. It’s pointless for her to try and get in the middle of this. As much as it hurts, things aren’t going to change for her. She can’t go back home with them, she can’t be a part of the pack again. But the two of them can still work things out. 

Scott nods slightly back at Lydia and follows Stiles into the bedroom. “I didn’t even know if you were alive.” 

He grabs his shirt off the floor and tugs it on over his head, searching for his pants without looking back at Scott. He doesn’t respond right away, because he doesn’t exactly know what to say. He knows that despite how bad things between them had been when he’d left Beacon Hills, Scott never stopped caring if Stiles was alive or dead, the same way Stiles never stopped caring about Scott. The difference is, Stiles has always known that Scott is fine, because unlike Lydia, he’d been able to keep track of Scott. “Yeah, well. Now you do.” 

“It was all a misunderstanding, Stiles,” Scott says, his voice tired. “Theo -- he did all of it. He planned it. You were right about him.”

He rubs a hand over his face and grabs his jeans off the floor, tugging them on over his boxers. “I know that.” He knows exactly what Theo did -- how he’d killed Scott, who thankfully had come back -- how he’d almost killed Melissa, who thankfully survived. “It’s why he had to die.” There’s no remorse in his voice, and he turns to look at Scott with arched eyebrows. 

Scott looks away at the words, then shakes his head slightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Stiles.” And he’s sorry it got to that point. He’s sure he could have stopped it if he had listened. 

He watches him for a moment, takes note of how quickly Scott looks away when he expresses no regret for killing Theo. He exhales, pressing his lips together. “It is what it is,” he answers, voice a little more quiet this time. 

“You need to come home, Stiles,” he adds quietly, a moment later.

“I’m not going back to Beacon Hills, Scott,” he says without hesitation before responding. “I don’t belong there anymore, I haven’t in a long time.” 

“What about the pack?” Scott asks, shaking his head. “We need you, Stiles. Malia, Liam…it hasn’t been the same without you.”

“But you managed. You’re all alive.” He shakes his head, too. “Things wouldn’t be the same even if I did come back. And you wouldn’t want me there now.” There’s a hint of something to his voice -- a certainty, an edge. 

“Yes, I would. It doesn’t matter to me what happened, I know I should have stopped you from leaving, Stiles. You’re my brother. That’s what matters.” 

His chest tightens at that and it’s his turn to look away. “You wouldn’t like the way I handle things these days,” he says quietly. 

“Whatever it is, we can figure it out,” Scott promises quietly. 

“Yeah? You sure about that? Because I’m not,” he tells Scott, pressing his lips together. 

“What do you mean? Is this -- about the druid stuff? Because Deaton told me about the spark, he told me he could sense it, but -- packs have emissaries, Stiles. You know that.”

“I’m not an emissary. I don’t operate like one,” Stiles responds, meeting his eyes. “I’m not like Deaton, Scott.” 

“I know. But you’re still part of the pack, in whatever capacity you want to be,” he offers quietly.

Stiles isn’t sure what to do with that, but he can tell by the look on Scott’s face that he means it. He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “I need to think.” 

Scott’s eyes widen a little, but he nods. He wasn’t even expecting that much so easily. “Take your time. But -- just don’t vanish again.” 

He nods, too, expression wary as he moves past him toward the door. 

Lydia is on the couch, doing her best not to listen to their conversation when Stiles makes his way back into the living room. She quickly stands up, arching her eyebrows a little. “I made coffee.” 

“Pass,” he responds, barely glancing at her as he makes his way toward the front door, grabbing his jacket off the rack.

“ _Stiles_ ,” she calls, starting after him. “Where are you going?”

“To get some air,” he says without looking back, yanking the door open and stepping out of the apartment, pulling it shut behind him.

Lydia winces when the door slams shut and sighs softly a moment later. At least he didn’t say he was leaving, so she’s going to try and focus on that. Besides, she did hear Scott asking him not to vanish. 

With a deep breath, she turns back toward her room, knowing that Scott has to have heard that.

A moment later, Scott slowly makes his way into the living room, looking a little dazed. “He’s really alive.” 

Her chest tightens at his words, but she nods. She never really believed Stiles wasn’t alive. Mostly because she knows what losing someone you love and who is part of the pack feels like. She couldn’t even consider that if something had happened to Stiles, she wouldn’t have felt it. But she couldn’t bring herself to reassure Scott, because she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure that she was _right_. “You okay?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” Scott hesitates only a second longer, then reaches out and wraps his arms around her in a hug, resting a hand on the back of her head. 

Lydia stills for a moment, surprised by the hug. But a second later, she closes her eyes and wraps her arms tightly around him. She’s missed the two of them the most. And for both of them to be around all of the sudden, it’s a little overwhelming. “I’m glad you came.” 

“Thanks for emailing me,” he murmurs.

She nods, then pulls back for a moment. “He’s -- different, Scott. Really different. But the real Stiles is still there.” 

Scott holds his breath, nodding as he holds her gaze. “I shouldn’t have let him leave,” he murmurs. 

“Scott, you know as well as I do that when he sets his mind on something, there’s no changing it,” she points out quietly, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

That’s something the two of them have in common, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. “Yeah.” He tries to smile, but doesn’t quite manage it. 

“How did it go?” she asks quietly, placing a hand on his arm as she leads him toward the couch. 

He lets her lead him to sit down and he’s quiet for a moment, considering how to answer that. “Could have been worse?” 

“That’s a good start,” she smiles a little, sitting next to him. “If anyone can get through to him, it’s you, Scott.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Scott says, meeting her eyes and giving her a meaningful look.

Lydia holds his gaze for a second, then shakes her head as she looks away. “You know I can’t help. Not in the long run.”

“Can’t you?” His voice is hushed, and he lets that thought linger momentarily before changing the subject. “So the two of you…” It’s not really his business, but he can’t not mention it either, considering he’d all but walked in on them. 

Her eyes widen a little at the words, and it’s ridiculous but she actually feels her face getting warm. Because this is _Scott_ and he’s almost like a brother to her. Even after all this time. “It’s -- not like that. I mean, it is, but --” this is painfully awkward. She takes a deep breath. “We both know he’s leaving.”

When her cheeks flush, he can’t help the way his lips curl upwards in a smile. Enough said, he thinks. “Lydia…” He shakes his head. If she really thinks Stiles leaving now is an option, he wonders if it’s too late for _all_ of them. 

“He already almost _did_ die, Scott,” she says quietly, her chest tightening when she remembers Stiles’ unconscious and pale face lying in the snow. “And it’s only been a few days.”

“What are you talking about?” He leans forward, watching her intently.

“There was a coven, witches. It’s a long story. But they were doing this ritual to -- awaken their powers and Stiles and I went to stop them. They already had some powers, they hit Stiles with some kind of spells. He was out for almost three days. Healing.” 

“Okay…” His eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head. “I’m not following here, Lydia.” 

“What do you mean, Scott?” she asks quietly. 

“How is Stiles being hit by a spell from some evil witches your fault?” He holds her gaze, expression earnest. 

“Not -- directly my fault. I told you, Scott. We attract death.” And the fact that no one from the pack was killed since she left just proves her theory. As much as any supernatural-based theory can be proven, anyway.

He sighs, shaking his head. “Lydia...it’s a coincidence,” he whispers. 

“You know by now that there is no such thing,” she points out quietly.

“Sometimes there is,” he argues. 

“I’m not going to risk your lives on a chance that sometimes there is,” she says quietly, shaking her head as she moves to stand up again. “I can’t.”

Scott watches her with a sad expression, then closes his eyes. He hopes for all their sakes she changes her mind. Because he’s pretty sure that’s the only way that the pack is ever going to be whole again.

****

By the time Stiles returns to Lydia’s apartment, he’s feeling calm again. He spent nearly two hours in the park grounding and centering until his emotions were under control. He tugs the hat off his head and shoves it in his coat pocket before doing the same with his gloves. He draws in a breath and lets it out slowly before knocking on the door and waiting.

As soon as she feels him coming closer, she gets up from the couch where she was still sitting with Scott. The same pull she can’t seem to shake when he’s around growing stronger as she can _physically_ feel him growing closer to her. 

“Lydia?” Scott asks, looking at her just before there’s a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” she calls, knowing it has to be him.

He twists the fixed door handle and steps into the apartment, shrugging out of the jacket. “You know, you probably should have locked that.” 

“We were waiting for you,” she points out unnecessarily, unable to suppress the relief she feels both from her voice and her expression. 

“Yeah, well there’s a whole lot of people and things out there that’d be happy to take advantage of that kind of opportunity.” His voice is serious, but not scolding or accusatory. His gaze slides to Scott momentarily and he presses his lips together. 

“I was keeping an ear out,” Scott reassures him with a soft smile as he stands up, too.

He doesn’t doubt that. But Scott isn’t always there, and while a locked door won’t deter someone determined to cause harm, it’s a good first roadblock in his opinion. “I need to talk to both of you. Separately. Alone.” 

Lydia holds her breath at that, glances at Scott and holds his gaze for a moment. Then nods at him before looking at Stiles again. “I’ll be in the bedroom, let me know when you guys are ready.” 

He nods at her silently, watching as she turns and heads toward the bedroom.

Lydia glances at the boys just one moment longer before closing the door. She knows she’ll be incredibly anxious while she waits but this is the whole point. For them to figure things out. And for them to have better lives. Together. 

Once the bedroom door is closed, Scott turns back to Stiles and takes a deep breath before nodding. “You wanna talk here?”

“Yeah, this is fine.” He moves to sit down on the couch, raking a hand through his hair before shifting so he’s facing Scott.

Scott nods, unsure of what to say, so all he manages is an awkward: “So, did you -- think about it?”  
“I’m not coming back to California, Scott.” His voice is quiet. Before Scott can protest, he holds up a hand. “Lydia’s still got a couple semesters left here at Columbia.” 

Scott’s face falls at first, but it only takes him a moment to catch up with what Stiles is saying and he begins to relax again. “You’re staying with her.” 

“I can’t leave her here on her own. She’s too trouble-prone.” This time his voice is a little lighter.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave her,” he says quietly, a small smile on his face. He wants the two of them back in Beacon Hills with him and the pack, but this is a good first step in the right direction.

“She’s not gonna like it,” he says grimly, looking away for a moment, then down at his hands. 

“If anyone can convince her, it’s you,” Scott throws at him what Lydia said to him earlier. Then smiles a little more and adds: “Especially now…”

“Yeah, we’ll see.” One thing he knows for sure is that she isn’t slipping out of his life again so easily. He pauses and glances at Scott with a raised eyebrow.

“What was it? A fifteen year plan?” He asks quietly, raising an eyebrow back.

“Started out a ten year plan, turned into a fifteen year plan...ended up...well. It hasn’t really ended, I guess,” he admits, glancing toward the closed bedroom door. 

Scott opens his mouth to say something, then reaches to pat Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m glad you two found each other.”

“Accidentally,” he tells Scott. 

“Lydia mentioned. The coven and the witches,” he says, watching Stiles.

“Yeah.” He nods, falling silent for a moment. He doesn’t meet Scott’s eyes. “How’s Melissa?” 

“She misses you. But she’s doing well, other than that,” he doesn’t take his eyes away from Stiles.

He finally glances over at Scott, chest tightening a little. “I’m not the same person I used to be.” 

“Neither am I. But you’ll always be like a son to her, Stiles.”

Stiles exhales, glancing down at his hands. “I’ve done a lot of things that you definitely wouldn’t like.” And that’s an understatement. 

And Scott doesn’t miss the fact that Stiles has said something similar to that twice now. “You wanna tell me about it?”

“I killed Theo. I don’t feel bad about it.” He watches Scott for a moment. “But there’ve been others, too.” 

Scott’s face falls for a moment, but he tries to keep his expression a little more neutral. “I know about Donovan. And -- it wasn’t your fault, Stiles.”

He closes his eyes. “I don’t -- just mean Donovan either,” he says quietly. He knows Scott knows that, because Donovan happened before Theo. Donovan was the reason he’d split town in the first place. 

On his part, Scott isn’t sure he wants to hear anything else. But if Stiles needs to tell him…“What else happened?”

“A lot,” he admits. He rises to his feet and begins to slowly pace the length of the floor. “We both know I’ve never really subscribed to the same moral code as you.” Much less so without Scott, Lydia or his dad around to keep him grounded. To remind him there are other options. Because sometimes there aren’t. 

“But things worked out just the same,” he points out. “The pack, you know you were as much of a pack leader as I was.”

A short chuckle escapes him. “No, I wasn’t, Scott.” 

“You were to me. I was lost without you, I have been,” he admits quietly.

He rubs a hand over his face, trying not to let those words affect him as much as they do. Tries not to want to admit that he’s been kind of lost without Scott and Lydia, too. 

“Stiles,” Scott sighs a little and shakes his head. “Whatever you’ve been doing, it doesn’t matter. If you want to stay here with Lydia instead of back home, I’m happy for the two of you. But I need my best friend back in my life, even if you stay across the country, I need to know you’re okay.”

He wants to tell him that he is. That he’s fine. But despite how good of a liar he can be, he knows it won’t work on a werewolf, much less a true alpha. Even less so with one who’s known him most of his life. “I can’t leave Lydia,” he says very softly. But he also doesn’t want to promise he’ll come back to Beacon Hills when she graduates. 

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Scott says. “Just -- give me your number so we can talk sometimes. Or come to visit. Both of you.”

Stiles gazes at him for a moment, then pulls his phone out of his pocket, sending Scott a text message so he’d have Stiles’ number. 

Scott looks down at his own phone, then smiles at Stiles before reaching out and pulling him into a hug.

It catches him off guard and it takes him a moment before he slowly slides his arms around Scott, too, shutting his eyes tightly. 

After a long moment, Scott pulls back. His eyes bright with tears, but he’s nodding. “You won’t vanish again, right?”

The sight of the tears in Scott’s eyes tug at his heart the way they always have, since they were five and Scott had an asthma attack in front of him the first time. His eyes had teared up because he couldn’t breathe and Stiles had been terrified and upset because he didn’t really understand what was happening. “Right,” he whispers back.

Scott nods, smiling a little then glances at the bedroom before looking back at his best friend. Because he feels like he can call him that again. “Go talk to her, I’ll wait here to, um -- to say goodbye.” Even if he doesn’t want to leave the two of them, he’s been gone for a couple of day already.

“Wish me luck,” he says, drawing in a breath as he looks toward Lydia’s closed bedroom door. 

“You’ll be fine,” Scott reassures him.

He smiles grimly. He wishes he was half as convinced as Scott seemed to be. Because he has a feeling it’s not going to be quite as easy as Scott seems to think.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I didn't post yesterday, I wasn't home! To make up for it, the last chapter will be up tonight! :)

Stiles knocks quietly on Lydia’s bedroom door. Once upon a time he would have been rehearsing everything he wanted to say to her, but he’s not the same guy he used to be. She’s not the same girl she used to be, either. Rehearsed speeches don’t mean much to anyone, least of all in a relationship like the one that they have. Not after everything they’ve been through, alone and together. 

“Come in,” she calls, getting up from her bed. As hard as it was, she actually managed to stay far away from the door to avoid hearing anything they might be talking about. Right now, she has no idea what to expect, she’s not even sure if this is Stiles or Scott.

Stiles opens the door, and steps inside before closing it behind him once more. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” she whispers. If she was anxious before, her stomach suddenly feels like a tight ball. She watches him close the door and takes the opportunity to take a deep breath in order to try and calm herself down. 

“I’m not going back to Beacon Hills,” he tells her as he leans against the door, keeping his eyes on her. 

Okay. That is _definitely_ not what she was expecting or hoping to hear. “You’re not? What about Scott?”

“Scott understands,” he answers, pressing his lips together. “Because he knows where I’m going to be.” He pauses only for a second. “I’m staying here in New York.” 

All air leaves her lungs and if the deep breath helped her calm down at all, it’s all long gone at this point. “ _Here_? Why, Stiles?”

“You know why, Lydia.” There’s no beating around the bush at this point. He knows how she feels about him, and she knows how he feels about her. 

Her face falls a little and she looks away, then shakes her head. “I told you I want you to stay.” She looks back at him again, her heart beating fast against her chest. “But you know you can’t.”

“I don’t know that, actually.” He pushes himself away from the door, moving closer to her. “I think it’s exactly the opposite, in fact.” 

“You need to go home. Away from me. Where you’ll be _safe_ , Stiles.” And yes, she knows the irony in saying he’ll be safe in Beacon Hills. But at least he’ll be safer than here with her and all alone out there.

“I _am_ home.” Stiles gazes at her intently. “My home is with you, Lydia. I’m not saying I have to move in or anything, but I’m not leaving town. Not until you’re ready to go back too.” 

Her eyes tear up at his words and as much as she wants to take in all he means by that, she knows she can’t. “You’re going to _die_ if you’re around me, Stiles.” 

“No, I’m not,” he says softly, reaching out and taking her hands in his. “I’m going to live.” 

“Not if you’re around me,” she repeats, her voice a little weaker as she wraps her fingers around his. “You know I left because of my mother, but you know why I had to stay gone. And it _worked_. I can’t -- I won’t risk you.” 

He smiles softly, shaking his head. “Look at my back, Lydia,” he murmurs, turning so his back is to her. 

Lydia stares at him in confusion for a moment. She shakes her head even as she reaches to raise his t-shirt over his lower back, brushing her fingers over his skin without even thinking about it. The usual spark she feels when she touches him instantly rushing up her fingers, so she just stares and holds her breath for a second before she can finally shake it off. “What -- what are you talking about?”

“It’s healed.” He knows she knows that already, but he needs her to see it just the same. To drive the point home. “Twenty four hours ago I was in excruciating pain. And now I’m one hundred percent better. And it’s not because I’m a druid or have advanced healing abilities.” He turns to look at her once more. 

“What do you mean? It wasn’t a human wound, it was magic. You rested and it vanished,” she concludes, shaking her head as she looks up at him, dropping her hands to her sides once more.

“No, Lydia.” His voice is soft but insistent. “I healed because we were here together. Because of the tether.” 

“Stiles. The tether never healed either one of us before,” she points out, even though her heart starts beating faster again.

“And how many times had we been...physically intimate before now?” 

She cocks her head at the question and gives him a look. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He draws in a breath and rakes a hand through his hair, moving to sit down on her bed. “We’ve always had a connection. But since that ritual that Deaton paired us up for, it was strengthened,” he reminds her even though he knows she hasn’t forgotten. “It’s why when all of the...nogitsune things happened you were the one who heard me. The one who knew there was trouble. It wasn’t just because you’re a banshee.” 

“What do you mean _always_? We barely talked until Sophomore year,” she reminds him quietly as she turns to face him, standing directly in front of him.

He nods at that, because it’s true enough. He’d tried to talk to her a few times over the years, mostly unsuccessfully. Either he chickened out or she blew him off. “But every time one of us was in serious trouble, it was one of us found the other. Or knew something was wrong. Think about it.” He gazes at her intently. 

She stares at him for a moment, then shakes her head a little. “I mean, after Peter bit me, yeah. You helped me a lot but -- you were one of the very few people who knew what was going on.”

“No. Even before that. The night it all started.” He draws in a breath. “The night of the dance, the night Peter attacked you. You went to look for Jackson. But I’m the one who found him. He hadn’t seen you. I got worried and so I went looking for you.” He licks his lips, hesitating a second, knowing this next part was going to surprise her. “I felt this...pull. To the lacrosse field. It’s where I found you. I saw Peter coming, under the lights. I screamed your name. I ran. But I wasn’t fast enough.” He exhales and looks down at his hands. 

Lydia blinks, confused as she processes what Stiles just told her. She cocks her head a little, watching him closely. “You found me with Peter?”

“Yes,” he admits, pressing his lips together momentarily. “I thought he was going to kill you. I was terrified.” The same way he’s always terrified when she’s in any kind of danger.

She shakes her head slightly, sitting down next to him with a soft sigh. “I remember someone calling my name but -- I just assumed it was Jackson. He told me -- it doesn’t matter.” She takes a deep breath and turns to look at Stiles again. “What are you trying to say with all this?”

“I know,” he admits. “He did end up finding you but...that’s a long story, too.” He glances at her sideways, meeting her eyes. “I’m saying that...like it or not, we’re connected. It isn’t going away. And now that we’ve gotten closer, it can’t be broken.” His voice is hushed.

“I don’t want it to go away. I don’t want it to be broken,” she whispers quietly, her eyes starting to tear up once more as she holds his gaze. “But you have to admit that -- what I told Scott before I left, it makes sense, Stiles. And -- the fact that every member of the pack survived ever since I left, it’s proof that it’s working. I -- I found a way to stay away from all you guys. I got away from my mother. I can’t risk you now just because I selfishly want you here.” 

He lifts a hand to her cheek. “Lydia. Banshees don’t _cause_ death,” he says quietly, certainty in his voice. “A lot of supernaturals do, but banshees aren’t on that list. And if you hadn’t been here with me after what happened, I would have died.” He almost had. And he knows the only reason he survived is because of their connection. If he’d been alone when the attack happened, he would have died in the aftermath. There’s no doubt in his mind about that. 

“Look at what happened to Meredith’s family, Stiles. To most of the people close to my Grandmother. To Allison and Aiden and -- your dad,” she adds the last one quietly, her chest tight with guilt and fear. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t. That’s why we have to stick together.” He leans in and kisses her forehead. “If one of us gets hurt, we’re going to heal a thousand times faster if the other is around.” 

Lydia closes her eyes as she reaches for his arm. “How do you know that for sure?”

He rests his head against hers. “Before everything went to hell, what was my primary function in the pack, Lydia?” he whispers. 

“You figured things out,” she whispers back, keeping her eyes closed as she tries to shut down the part of her brain that is actually considering this. 

“Exactly,” he agrees, stroking his hand down her back. “I researched. I did my homework. I figured things out. And just because I left Beacon Hills doesn’t mean I stopped researching and looking for answers.” 

She can feel the warmth of his hand even through her clothes and she wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, pull him closer and kiss him. To tell him yes, that she wants him to stay. But instead, she takes a deep breath and pulls away to look at him. “You’ll have to tell me everything, to make sure I know everything that this means and -- and why it feels the way it does.”

“Give me twenty-four hours and you’ll know everything I know. And you’ll have proof.” He rises to his feet and moves across the room to where his bag is. He rummages through it before pulling out a sharp dagger and holding it up for her to see. 

“What is this?” she asks as she gets up, too, then reaches out for the dagger.

“Just a dagger,” he tells her, carefully handing it over to her so she can examine it. “Do you feel anything magic about it? Anything odd?” 

Lydia stares at him for a moment, then shakes her head slightly. She then turns her attention down to the blade, running her fingers over the rune-like engravings. “This doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“It’s just decorative,” he admits. “I thought it looked cool.” He holds his hand out so she can hand it back to him.

She turns the dagger so that the blade is turned away from him and holds it back out to him. “Why are you showing me this now?”

“Do you trust me?” He takes the knife back from her, but keeps his eyes on hers.

“Of course I trust you,” she answers sincerely, despite her confusion.

Stiles nods and takes a deep breath before lifting the blade to his left arm, hesitating only a second before swiping it across his skin, deep enough that it wouldn’t heal overnight under normal circumstances. He bites back a curse. 

“ _Stiles_! Stop!” Lydia yells as soon as she realizes what he’s doing, but it’s too late. “What the hell? You don’t have to _prove_ that you can heal!”

“Yes, I do,” he says, gritting his teeth as he wipes the blade off with the cloth it was wrapped in, in his bag. To entirely erase the doubt in her mind, to make her understand what it means, this is exactly what he has to do. 

Her jaw clenches and she shakes her head. “I’m trying to tell you that you can’t stay around me because you’re going to get hurt. I was willing to give this a shot. But _this_ doesn’t help your point.”

“In twenty-four hours, it will,” he tells her quietly. “It’ll be gone entirely.” 

Lydia rubs a hand over her face and sighs softly, shaking her head. “You’re an idiot. I didn’t need to _see_ it.”

He almost smiles at that. Almost. “Maybe. But I’m _your_ idiot.” 

Her heart does skip a beat at the words, but she’s too upset with him nothing to smile back. Instead, she just stares at him for a moment. “You really wanna stay?”

“Lydia...a thousand werewolves and kanimas couldn’t make me leave at this point.” He winks at her, and heads out of the room to go to the bathroom to clean the wound.

She shakes her head and sighs as he walks away. Because if he really does want to stay, no matter how much of a bad idea she thinks this is, there are going to be rules. It’s the least she can do to try and keep him safe.

He returns a few moments later, arm wrapped in ace bandages to stem the blood flow. He finds her sitting on the bed, looking unhappy and there’s a spark of uncertainty in his chest for the first time since he came back from his walk. Maybe she really doesn’t want him there. “Penny for your thoughts,” he says after a long moment of watching her.

“Sit,” she says evenly.

He arches an eyebrow at her tone and moves to sit in the chair beside her bed.

Lydia sits up and takes a deep breath before she begins with everything she’s been sorting through since she started considering this. “ _If_ you’re really serious about staying, I need you to agree to a few things first.” 

Rules. The thing he’s the worst in the _world_ with. This is sure to go well, he thinks wryly. “I’m listening.” 

“First of all, at the first weird banshee, death-related feeling I have that involves you, you’re leaving. And you’re going to Beacon Hills. Regardless of what is happening here. If I feel like you might be in danger, you’re leaving and you’re going to find Scott.” She says firmly, holding his gaze. “Agreed?”

He narrows his eyes at that. “Unless the feeling also involves _you_ , in which case I either won’t leave you or you’ll come with me.” He folds his arms across his chest and leans back in the chair, holding her gaze, too.

Her eyes narrow right back at him. “Fine, if I feel like I’m also about to die, we’ll figure out a plan.” She can just not tell him that the feeling involves her and then get him to safety. That’s a good plan. 

“Next. No more barging into places and killing people. Pack or not, I know _you_ are better than that, even if you don’t believe that yourself.”

His jaw tightens. “Lydia, there’s not always a good option in every case.” 

“Yes, there is. There were always options before. And _if_ , as a last resort, we have exhausted every other option and we agree that that’s what must be done, we’ll do it. But _not_ as a spur of the moment decision and we’ll make the decision _together_. It will be on both our shoulders and not just yours.” She knows he won’t think twice if it means just guilt on him.

He wants to remind her of how many people they’d lost because of lack of quick action. There’d been so many. Hell, if Morrell had killed him in Eichen, Allison would probably still be alive. He rubs a hand over his face, rising to his feet and moving to look out her bedroom window. He also knows himself well enough to know that if her life is in danger and he has to make a quick choice between saving her life and not killing someone, that other person is going to lose every single time. “Fine,” he responds. 

Considering how long it takes him to respond, she’s not sure he’s going to agree. So when he does, she lets out a breath in silent relief. She can tell he’s growing frustrated, but she knows him. And she knows he can be so much better than he is now. 

“And lastly,” she says after a moment. “You’re going to stop acting like your life, like your _safety_ doesn’t matter,” she adds firmly as she stands up again, even though her voice is more emotional now than it was before. 

“If you expect me to -- let you stay here with me. If you expect me to feel this connection when it’s _this_ intense all the time, I can’t deal with you making stupid decisions for yourself and putting yourself in danger like you have nothing to lose.”

If she’d been anyone else, he’d have reminded her -- probably very sarcastically -- that even if she didn’t let him stay _with_ her, she couldn’t exactly make him leave town, either. But he doesn’t. He turns to face her, expression softening when her tone changes. “Okay,” he says quietly, meeting her eyes. 

Her own expression softens when she sees the look on his face. At his quiet agreement, she can barely hold back her tears anymore. She nods slightly, then hesitates as she steps forward. “This -- it has nothing to do with us being closer now. With -- whatever ends up happening between the two of us,” she clarifies quietly. “I’m asking all of this as your _friend_ , Stiles. As someone who cares about you, as someone who cares about how you treat yourself.” 

He presses his lips together as he lets that sink in. He knows from the boy he used to be that it’s never mattered. Whether they were just friends like so long ago, or more like they are now, he’s always wanted to make her happy. To please her. “I’ve got some rules, too,” he tells her after a moment, reaching out and resting his hands on her shoulders. 

Lydia cocks her head a little and takes a deep breath before nodding. “Okay.”

“Rule number one.” He steps closer to her, gaze intense. “You have to remember you’re not invincible either, and you have to understand that if there’s magic of some kind involved, I’m going to have to act quickly if there’s trouble. I need you to trust me to do that.” 

“I do trust you, I told you,” she reminds him quietly. “Just don’t forget I can do more with my abilities now, too.”

Stiles nods, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Rule number two. I’m not getting rid of my weapons.” His voice is quiet. Because there are bad things out there, a _lot_ of bad things, and he knows more than likely he’ll have to use said weapons in the future. “And rule number three…” He worries his lower lip for a moment. “I definitely am going to have to insist that at least once a week you wear flannel.” 

While she doesn’t love rule number two, she does let it go for now. She doesn’t even know all the weapons he has or what they are are for, so once he explains everything to her, she can have a better opinion. But she does trust him, so she really doesn’t think she’ll change her mind.

At his third rule, however, she cocks her head. “Excuse me? Does that mean I get to demand you shave daily?” 

His eyes twinkle and he smirks at her question. “You don’t dig the beard?” he asks, rubbing a hand over it. 

She cocks her head and smiles as she lifts a hand to brush her fingers over his facial hair. “As much as I appreciate this more rugged version of Stiles, I’m afraid someone is going to try to pick you up as a homeless person someday,” she smirks.

He narrows his eyes and drops his hands to her hips, tickling her lightly. “I’ll have you know that when you’re constantly on the road, occasionally running for your life, shaving isn’t the first thing on your mind, Martin.” 

She laughs softly when he tickles her and squirms a little as she reaches to still his hands. “Well, now you have a roof over your head, so that’s no excuse.” 

“I guess we’ll see what happens.” He tugs her a little closer to him and brushes his nose over hers before dipping his head to kiss her softly on the mouth. 

Lydia kisses him back instantly, lifting a hand to cup his cheek as she does, before pulling back to look at him. “You really are staying, then?”

“I’m not leaving you,” he says quietly, meeting her eyes.

Her face softens and she smiles a little as she brushes her finger over his cheek. “What about Scott?”

“Scott will be fine. He’s going back home,” he answers. 

“I figured as much.” The two of them might have abandoned the pack, but Scott never would. Lydia takes a deep breath and nods. They'll figure out the next steps later. “And you're okay?”

“I’m fine.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Are you?” 

“Yeah,” she whispers quietly. It will be an adjustment but she definitely thinks it will be a good one. “You already told him this is your plan?”

He nods slightly. “He approves.” Involuntarily, his lips quirk upwards. Since Lydia dropped her nitwit routine years ago, Scott’s been almost a big a fan of the idea of Stiles and Lydia together as Stiles has been since the third grade. 

“Good,” she responds sincerely. She figured he might, considering the comment he made earlier about her helping Stiles. But it's nice to know for sure that she's not getting in the way of them having a better relationship again. In fact, she’ll do her best to make sure they do.


	11. Chapter 11

**One year later**

“Stiles?” Lydia calls as she makes her way into their apartment, shrugging off her coat and dropping it on top of one of the many boxes flooding the living room as she makes her way toward the bedroom. “The movers will be here in twenty minutes, please tell me you’re a) home and b) done packing?” 

“You’re assuming they’ll be on time,” he calls back from the bedroom where he’s packing the rest of his books into boxes and taping them shut. “They’re movers. We’re kinda stuck until they do get here. We’re at their mercy. Probably should have made some kind of animal sacrifice to the moving gods.” 

When he answers, she’s a little relieved because, yes, he’s at home. And then she steps into the bedroom and sighs, shaking her head. “Of course you’re not done. I should have stayed home.”

His lips quirk upwards in a smirk. “Hey, I’m all _but_ done,” he tells her, glancing over to where she’s standing in the doorframe. He cocks his head to look at her for a moment, expression softening. 

“Not done enough,” she teases, cocking her head at the look on his face as she approaches him. “Not getting cold feet, are you?”

“Under other circumstances, I would be,” he admits, keeping his gaze on her. 

“But not in this one?” she asks as she kneels next to him, picks up a couple of books and places them in the box he’s currently packing.

“No. Not since we’re going together.” He’s admittedly a little apprehensive to go back to Beacon Hills -- for more reasons than one -- but he also knows that as long as they’re going together, he’ll get through it. 

Her face softens and she leans in pressing her lips softly to his for a moment. “I love you. And for the record, I feel the same way.”

He nods slightly and returns the kiss, lifting a hand up to cup her cheek. “I love you, too,” he murmurs. “And you know…” Mischief lights up his face. “We probably have just enough time to bid this room a _proper_ goodbye.” 

She shouldn’t. But she can’t help the way the smirk just slips on her face. “Maybe. If you were done _packing_.” 

He narrows his eyes at her. “I don’t really need the rest of these books anyway.” 

“I’m fairly sure the new owners aren’t interested in the occult, Stiles.” And even as she says this, she reaches out to unbutton his flannel shirt.

“Hey you never know,” he responds, leaning in to kiss her neck as his hands make their way around her body to unzip her skirt. 

Lydia shivers lightly and closes her eyes. She pushes his shirt off as she moves a little closer. “I rather think the very spoiled freshmen that are getting our apartment are not occultists.” 

He chuckles softly against her mouth as he tugs her so she’s in his lap. “Fair enough,” he whispers. 

“But enough about the freshmen.” Lydia smirks against his lips, straddling him easily as she deepens the kiss and presses closer to him. 

“Agreed,” he says instantly, sliding a hand into her hair. He couldn’t care less who was moving in when they were gone, anyway. 

***

Lucky for them, the movers had been almost an hour late, which gave them plenty of time to shower and redress before they made sure everything was in the truck and made their way to the airport. 

By the time they land in Beacon Hills, Lydia is more than a little anxious. It’s been over four years since she’s been here. Since she’s seen the pack, or anyone from their past, really. But as they ride the cab to the McCall house, seeing the very familiar houses and landscape start to soothe her a little more. 

“Still doing okay?” she asks Stiles, squeezing his hand gently as she turns to look at him.

He grips onto her hand a little more tightly, shoulders tight with tension. He’s seen Scott -- and even Kira -- a couple of times in the last few months when they’d come to visit in New York. But he hasn’t been back to Beacon Hills in a long time. It’s all familiar, and not all of it’s good. 

He glances at her sideways, expression neutral except for the anxiety reflecting in his eyes. “Yeah.” 

Her face softens and she leans close, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Liar.” 

“It’s a little more overwhelming than I thought it was going to be,” he admits. 

“I know.” She watches him for a moment. “Let’s just-- get through Christmas and then our stuff will get here and we can move to the new house and start over.” That’s what she keeps repeating to herself.

He nods slightly, not sure how Melissa McCall was going to feel about his sudden presence in town again, or in Scott’s life, or in general. He hadn’t exactly said goodbye to her either. “Yeah, it’s just a couple days,” he agrees quietly. They could get through that, right?

“At least here, it will be a little harder for my mom to show up unannounced?” she half jokes. The way her mom found out about Stiles being back in her life-- could have been a lot better than Natalie literally walking in on the two of them mostly naked in the bedroom. Stiles had already been living there for about three months at that point so she was _very_ unhappy with Lydia. 

But in the end, Lydia thinks it was better that way. At least knowing she and Stiles were together made it easier to prepare Natalie for the news about them moving back to California. She’s still very unhappy about the whole thing, but she managed to treat Stiles respectfully when the two of them went Upstate to tell her about it. 

He grimaces involuntarily at that. “Valid point. Of course now we only have to worry about Melissa walking in on us unannounced.” He pauses. “She’s probably going to have us in separate rooms actually.” He rubs his free hand over his face. “Nevermind. I’ll probably be camping on the lawn.” 

“There aren’t enough rooms,” she points out, then shakes her head when he adds that he’ll be camping on the lawn. “Kira has been allowed to spend the night there since we were what, sixteen? I think she’ll be okay with us sharing the guest bedroom.” And then she squeezes his hand and smirks a little. “If she makes you sleep outside, you can climb my window like you used to climb Scott’s.”

“One time when I did that she almost hit me with a baseball bat,” he informs her. “So just know that if that happens I’m risking life and limb to see you.” 

“I’m worth it,” she smirks a little more and shrugs a shoulder. “Seriously, Stiles, I think she’s just going to be very happy to see you. She _did_ insist we flew down for Christmas.”

He thinks she’s probably overestimating Melissa’s eagerness to see _him_ , but he doesn’t say so. He lifts his free hand to his mouth, chewing his thumbnail absently. “Yeah. I’m sure you’re right.” 

“I definitely am,” she says, reaching for his hand and pulling it away from his mouth just as they pull up to the McCall’s. And seeing that house again does make her stomach tighten up with knots, but she does her best to shake it off. Mostly for Stiles’ sake.  
They sit in silence in the cab for an extra few moments, and then he takes a deep breath. “Here we go,” he mumbles, reaching for the handle. Once he’s out, he holds his hand out to help Lydia as well, simultaneously reaching into his back pocket for his wallet to pay the driver. 

She watches as he pays, then helps Stiles pick up their suitcases from the trunk. Once the driver leaves, she takes a deep breath and looks at him. “Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He tightens his grip on the suitcases and nods for her to lead the way.

Just as they’re about to make their up to to the door, it flies open and Scott steps out, smiling brightly. “Hey!”

Stiles can’t help but grin back at him, an almost involuntary reaction to seeing the familiar smile. “Hey. Merry Christmas,” he says. 

“Merry Christmas,” Scott respond, pulling Stiles into a hug immediately. 

Lydia smiles at the interaction and steps forward, into the house. “I’ll get inside before it starts raining.” It is getting pretty cloudy, but she’s also been making a point in letting the boys have their time whenever they get together.

Stiles hugs Scott back tightly, watching as Lydia makes her way into the McCall’s house. “Hey,” he greets. “Thanks for letting us crash for a few days.” 

“However long you guys need,” Scott says as he pulls back and picks up one of the suitcases. “Mom set up the guest room for you guys.”

He relaxes a little at that. He’s glad to get confirmation they don’t have to be split up for the duration of their stay. “She here?” he asks, voice dropping. 

Scott nods and starts bringing their things inside. “She’s upstairs, should be down soon,” he says before adding: “Mom! They’re here!”

He rakes a hand through his hair, chewing his lower lip as he follows Scott into the house, glancing toward the stairs nervously. He wants to ask Scott if she’s forgiven him for taking off. For causing more problems for Scott, for the pack. He’s also scared to hear the answer. 

Once the boys are also inside, Lydia takes a moment to greet Scott properly with a hug, then focuses on Stiles when she hears footsteps coming from upstairs. She knows he’s nervous about this, but she’s fairly sure it will be okay.

“Good to see you,” Scott says quietly, hugging Lydia gently. 

“You too, Scott. Thanks for having us,” she says just as quietly. 

“And you two are _finally_ back here. I always knew this day would come,” Melissa announces as she makes her way downstairs and into the living room.

Stiles holds his breath, chewing his lower lip but offers her a tentative smile. “The prodigal kids return?” he jokes. 

“Come here,” she says, wrapping an arm tightly around Stiles as she pulls him close.

He closes his eyes and hugs her tightly, letting out a shaky breath. “Merry Christmas,” he murmurs. 

Scott smiles softly at the reunion and looks at Lydia before draping his arm around her shoulders. “It’s definitely that,” he whispers.

Lydia leans against Scott, smiling softly too and letting out a breath as she relaxes. It feels really good to finally be back home.


End file.
